


Steel Blue

by ObfuscatedEvanesce



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2245878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObfuscatedEvanesce/pseuds/ObfuscatedEvanesce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac stared at the space previously occupied vacantly. The words didn't fill him, not like the watercolors and lilac. He was an upturned bowl, and the reality of consequence seemed to just run over him without taking hold. Words just streamed in rivulets across his smooth exterior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Importing this from my FF.Net. I liked writing it, but I changed a major thing and then got kinda disappointed with where it was going. I shall resume this shortly though.

He drifted, under the the soft tones of fleeting music. Allowed it to lap at his feet, swell and pour over him, like a scented haze. His heart sighed and tightened under the pressure of nostalgia so overwhelming, like lilacs and watercolors of a much better time. He drowned, and for the moment, he was happy. The music caressed him gently, warmly, but the voice was empty and longing. Grey and sombre, as if speaking words he feared to say. Alone, he hated it. He needed people, yet they never stayed. So, he just gave up. Kept to himself. Let songs like this fill his heart to the point where he suffocated, to the point where it might burst out of his being. Floating and drowning all at once.

And it's the last time you'll ever hear from me.

"Lahey!" the coach's demanding voice pierces his reverie. He looks up, wide-eyed, from his thoughts.

"Yes, coach?"

"Get your head out of your ass and focus!" he yells, pointing his clipboard at the player, irritation evident in his features. He had been spacing out frequently recently and it was beginning to grate on Finstock's nerves. Even Stilinski was making better plays, god knows what goes through that kid's head at any given point. He was getting thrashed.

"You know what? Just get off the field. All of that grass is getting to your brain," he said in his loud, naturally angry voice, his fingers pointing to his temple emphasizing his sarcasm.

Isaac rolls his eyes, tucking his helmet under his arm as he sat on the bleachers. He didn't care about Lacrosse anymore, often wondering why he even bothered to show up. There was no purpose. What skill he did have was just the result of this stupid curse, and it's not like their team didn't have enough wolves anyway. What was one less?

His everything, if he was honest with himself.

It wasn't any single moment, but the cascades of events that simply overtook him.

He looked at everything and nothing, his gaze falling on the practice, the field, the sway of grass blades in the slight wind, yet registered none of it. The tension in his muscles and apprehension was automatic as his teammate settled into the bleachers beside him. The other breathed noticeably, chest heaving and shoulders rising - then the exhale. Gazes went unmatched.

"I'm sorry."

Isaac stared at the space previously occupied vacantly. The words didn't fill him, not like the watercolors and lilac. He was an upturned bowl, and the reality of consequence seemed to just run over him without taking hold. Words just streamed in rivulets across his smooth exterior.

Isaac went home. He kept Ms. McCall company, one of the few endeavors he took seriously. She was his mom, he couldn't leave her to herself no more than she could him. They shared in the same suffering. It was easier to suffer together. Sometimes it felt as if they weren't suffering at all. It was a nice reprieve, and usually the only times a trace of a smile drew his face, yet Isaac found solitude in the midnight moon. He snuck out quietly. Wondered the silver lined streets with earbuds plugged in. Every time, he ended in a familiar place. Still empty. Chill with the night air, still in lifelessness. He'd paint the ghost of his past with sweet memories. The old, smiling faces whose outlines blurred against white spaces. He was small again. Innocent once more, playing eagerly with toys against the hardwood. The coming of dawn poured him empty, awaiting to be filled once more.

His only options for lab partners were Stiles and Ethan, neither of which he was particularly ecstatic about. Isaac tended to forgive people rather easily. At least he used to, now he was much more cautious. He wasn't about to simply ignore Ethan's involvement in everything. He didn't want anything to do with Ethan or his brother. Stiles was generally obnoxious, overly talkative, and irritatingly inquisitive. Sarcastic as all hell too. Besides being a general nuisance, there was something else Isaac found disconcerting. Stiles was his best friend's best friend. Isaac didn't necessarily have a direct relationship with they guy, nor did he particularly want to, especially now.

Yet here he was sitting next to him at the lab table exchanging numbers. This, the guy, the human who had threatened him in a similar setting prior. The circumstances and feelings had long been rinsed, however.

"You know, you can't run from it forever," he begins as the bell rings and classmates file out for lunch.

"I'm not running," he says, and he really looks at Stiles. He rakes over the young detective's features, all rounded angles, long, set eyebrows, and flat unsmiling lips. Brown eyes meet blues. Isaac averts, glancing at the door wide open.

"Yeah, well, it sur -"

"I'm just… completely still," he interrupts, returning his gaze to the brunette. Stiles visibly shivers at the steely hollow edge to his voice. Isaac leans back in the chair, pushing it out so he can get up. Gathering his belongings, he leaves his lab partner at the desk.

"Your eyes. They're blue," Stiles says as Isaac passes the door frame. Isaac turns back, rolling his eyes.

"And grass is green. So what?"

"No. I mean, they're blue," Stiles' face contorts in confusion and worry.

"Yeah… so?" Isaac's voice is the most distant and forlorn Stiles has ever heard, and his eyes flash from a brilliant cerulean like the midday sky to an otherworldly, mesmerizing azure shining like dark magic. All at once, Stiles feels it all in that instant. Isaac left, yet it rooted him in his thoughts.

Isaac slides down the locker, thumps his head against the hollow metal in shock. He stares between his arched legs blankly, arms loosely hooked around them. This was the last thing that he wanted.

The stronger wolf grimaced, unsure of how to respond. They couldn't work on their final Heart of Darkness paper during study hall - their free periods were at different times. As much as he was reluctant, Ethan had to work something out with the beta. It wasn't going well.

"You locked me in a closet," he states automatically, wide cerulean eyes open. Ethan made to speak, but Isaac's words were like a rolling stone gathering momentum down endless tracts of the mountain of his life.

"With the girl that stabbed me…" he cranes his head sideways, turning his gaze toward the wolf, "twenty times," Ethan's eyes flutter in uncertainty of how to approach the situation.

"You slashed me open, chased me while I was half dead on a motorcycle, killed the girl that helped me escape - I never got to thank her by the way - practically forced my alpha to disown me since there's no way in hell he'd kill his kin and…."

"Look -"

"You helped kill Boyd," Isaac looks up, eyes wide in growing anger, "and -"

"Hey Ethan, I was wondering if we were still on for Friday? With midterms coming up, I wasn't sure if you'd be too busy," Danny greets Ethan with a warm smile, completely oblivious to the lanky teen sitting against the lockers. Ethan, happy for the deflection, absorbs himself into Danny's presence.

"Yeah, of course. I have to work out a good time to discuss the presentation for the paper on Heart of Darkness with my… partner," Ethan glances at Isaac with furrowed eyebrows, and Danny arches his in disbelief, "but. Friday night. You and me and your change of clothes." Ethan wraps his powerful arms around Danny, pressing their noses together.

"You know how much I love to cuddle," Danny smiles, extracting himself from Ethan's embrace, "I got to get to class. I'll see you after school.

Ethan watches as Danny leaves, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. It was wavering. The metallic clang of Isaac's locker shutting interrupts him from his thoughts, bringing him back to the situation at hand. It was strange though. For one in such a position, he seemed oddly calm. Ethan knew better than to trust docile serenity. It often foretold of impending disaster.

"Isaac."

He turns around halfly, reverting his attention back to exchanging useless books to more pertinent texts.

"We have to work together on this."

Isaac grins, and it confuses Ethan, "Somehow, I always end up working with my enemies. Sorry to ruin your date though. I have that lab proposal to do with Stiles on Thursday.'

"What do you have to do tomorrow?"

"None of your goddamn business."

Ethan bows his head, licking his lips, "If it's worth anything," he trails, heading towards the direction of his next class, "I don't want to be enemies," he nods slightly, then walks off.

Isaac sighs, then whispers, "Friday. Right after school. Your place."

That night, Isaac heard everything in slow motion. The voices echoing the hollow hallways, the cascade of heartbeats like a cacophonous melody. It all felt too real, and it all felt like fantasy. Eventually, the syncopation became raindrops, a heavy downpour, then… He moved too slowly, saw things too clearly, heard everything, everything. Every detail of their porcelain faces, every fragment of light that caught liquid fear, he remembered it all. He contributed to the cacophony with his own voice, and with his own heart, his own desperation made full.

No one should be forced to make these kinds of decisions. He wept, like most everyone else. Blood stained hands may be washed clean, but the conscious won't be remedied. No amount of ablution would wash this away.

"Earth to Isaac, hello?" Stiles snaps his fingers in attempt to garner some reaction from the lonesome wolf.

"I'm very much aware, would you please stop?" Isaac snaps. Lately, he'd been strangely hypersensitive to minute details, even considering his werewolf abilities. Hearing in particular, as if there lie some ulterior music, a rhythm of sorts, that whispered quietly, just playing without a heed to who's listening. It's been happening since that night. Every sound seemed to have a significant new meaning, a different aspect he hadn't noticed before. The scratch of graphite against the smooth fibers of Stiles' messy notes, the crinkling of his own under the pen. Stiles' soft comforter gently shifting against itself, even the caress of his shirt against his skin. He perceived it all differently, yet exactly the same - familiar, yet nuanced.

Stiles' snapping had whole new levels of obnoxiousness, he didn't even understand.

"Lab experiment. Due tomorrow. And we've got nothing to show for it," Stilinski waves his hands expressively, stressing the fact they were going to fail the assignment.

"Lab proposal. We aren't actually doing anything until next week. We just have to come up with an experimental design for approval."

They carry on, making snide remarks at each other. It wasn't necessarily out of animosity for each other, but rather a natural dynamic born out of sassy personalities. Stiles has difficulty dealing with Isaac's dense intelligence, not to mention the frequent spacing out, while the other just couldn't stand all the noise he was making.

"You know what, how about we burn mountain ashe and see how well 'humans' - I mean you, by the way, - can survive in a sauna fully decorated with mistletoe and monkshood, how about that?" Stiles paces, throwing up pages of discarded ideas in exasperation.

Isaac is infuriatingly calm, leaning on the white wooden door. He glides toward Stiles, something different in his demeanor that puts Stiles on edge. There's a glint in his eyes, and his lips upturned into a coy smile. They're closer than they've ever been. Stiles' heart jumps ever slightly, but Isaac caught it.

"You don't realize just how easy it would be…" he purrs sweetly, a long, thin claw caressing the tender underside of Stiles' jaw, skin nearly breaking under the featherweight pressure. Gently, Isaac tilts his head so their eyes meet, and Stiles is forced to comply, "to end the life on someone so insignificant." Isaac is gaping solemnly, threateningly, his eyes lidded in challenge.

"Actually, I do."

Isaac remembers struggling to breathe, asphyxiated on the floor. Honestly, he wasn't surprised in the slightest. He smelled the fragrant poison the moment he stepped on their lawn, the scent percolating his entire being as he stepped inside. Eventually he picked himself off the floor, none too gracefully, then left quietly. He deserved it, he supposes.

Either way, it gave him an idea of sorts. Of how to go about his late night excursions. He'd have to consult with Allison perhaps.

The next morning, Stiles is being particularly spazzy, so much so that Isaac can literally hear him in the hallway before he even arrives at school. Maybe he's paying too much attention to the most normal person in their loosely bound group, maybe his hyper-awareness got weirded out with all the wolfbane powder tossed into his face. He doesn't really care. Stiles ran into the wrong guy, mouthed off a little too much, and now he was trying really hard to talk his way out of a pounding. But his only defense wasn't helping him at all, only making the angry teen angrier. Unsurprisingly, the hallway is empty, as Stiles is late. Isaac casually strolls along the hallway, facial expression level. The bully is too engrossed in yelling at Stiles, and Isaac's footfalls are only audible to himself. Without breaking stride, Isaac grabs the bully by the shirt and flings him mercilessly into the lockers lining the adjacent wall, colliding with a metallic bang.

Like last week's trash.

Stiles just stares open mouthedly as Isaac continues on. Thinking for a moment, Isaac, turns back.

"Yet you can defend yourself against the likes of me?"

Isaac scoffs, then heads to class.


	2. Chapter 2

Silently, he arrived, like the memorable melodies to a dreamscape song. His breathing was the whispered lyrics echoing the most sensuous meanings; the crunch of his boots against small pebbles and smooth pavement was the reverberating holophonic beats. Carefully, he listened to his own symphony, allowing hers to offer some meager contribution, if only her heartbeat. He couldn't help it. Everything was a wave, and he felt it all crashing upon him. It was intriguing. It was confusing. It was mesmerizing. He was already hovering behind her, ghostlike, when her heart sent a jostling wave his way. Her arm arcing, rippling the calm air into a frenzy, she swipes at him blindingly quickly. He hears the razor tip of the chinese ring dagger whistle, feels the air of the trajectory nudge the skin of his neck.

"Well hello to you too, Sweety," Isaac grins, amused.

"Oh, god, don't sneak up on me like that," Allison breathes, surprised, fixing loose ebony strands behind her ear. These meetings became an almost ceremonious event between them. It seemed to Isaac that everyone's loyalties disintegrated, not through a lack of trust, but rather the dissolving of a knot which tied them all together. It left him with many connections, but very few friends. As much as he shouldn't like her, Allison is the closest thing to a friend he had at the moment.

"So what are we here for? Did you find something?" Allison asks, returning the dagger to its holster.

"Not really, no," Isaac begins, and he can see the slight roll of her eyes and hears the huff of slight disappointment, "but I had an idea."

Allison tilts her head slightly, the orange cast of the lamplights capturing her angled features. It only distracts Isaac for an instant, before he continues.

"What if -" Isaac contemplates, eyes narrowing, "instead of tracking, we tried trapping?"

"How are we going to trap them if we have no idea where they are?"

"Precisely," and Allison is really confused by this point, giving him a look which questions Isaac's intelligence, "After having poison thrown in my face, it got me thinking. I could smell the wolfbane in Stiles' room long before even stepping foot on his lawn."

"What, Stiles did what?"

"Nothing. I've got something of a plan here and I think it might work."

When did it all start?, he wonders, shivering to himself, tightly coiled underneath the quaint sheets. It was maddening. As the month progressed, the chaos boiled over into insanity. White foam rapids of millions of voices piled into his head, raving in his cranium. It was as if the entirety of Beacon Hills was screaming in his head. They were screaming in his head, and he couldn't make it stop. With every cadence of silver light pooling onto his bed, his brain seared in misery. It was more pain than he could tolerate, yet he couldn't cry out. So, he just silently wept, praying the night come to a quick end.

Stiles wasn't into this sort of thing, not by any stretch of the imagination. Sure, he'd thought about it. Many times. During any part of the day. In so many different positions, and with so many different people. But never like this, pinned to the wall in a dark alley with no one to hear him cry out for help. Scared and angry, he couldn't help think to himself what a sad way to lose his virginity this is. And of course his only defense only served to worsen his situation. He wouldn't cry though. Settle on small victories, like biting his lip until it bled, or leaving angry red marks down the smooth, rigid back. Make fun of his size, and hope it deflates his ego instead of roughening the experience.

He deflated, something that only happened in the rarest of times when inevitability set in. Let him shower him with disgustingly tender kisses, while his mind floundered elsewhere, anywhere but on his current situation. The alley, not far from the nightclub he'd been staking out, offered little distraction. The darkness shaded any idiosyncrasy to near invisibility. The stars shone brightly, and the pale moon tried its best to illuminate this catastrophe. It only made Stiles feel like this was some twisted poetic happenstance, where even the heavens gave into futility.

That was, until he saw it, something peering at him through the immeasurable veil. A pair of cold, steel blue eyes hovering there in the darkness. He blinked, and they vanished, and Stiles was more scared than he'd ever been. Even on the precipice of violation, the fear of the unknown triumphed. His feet suddenly felt three times as heavy, frozen solid by the lurid gaze. Before he could excuse the phenomenon as a trick of his imagination, he blinked, and they appeared closer, more vivid and otherworldly.

"S-stop! Please!" Stiles panicked, trying with renewed strength to push the offender off him, "We've got to get out of here!"

"Oh? No need to be frightened, it'll all feel good soon enough," he lulles. Stiles bristles at the unctuously threatening tone.

"Didn't you hear him? He said stop." He leans against the opposite wall, watching the occurrence vapidly, making no attempt at concealing the supernatural shine to his otherwise placid eyes. The offender turns around curiously, the freezes in surprise. Good, Isaac smirks, hearing his heart accelerate.

"Wh-who the hell are you?"he stammers, taking timid steps backwards.

"Why?" Isaac coaxes, teasing the molester with steady advances, "Afraid of the big. Bad. Wolf?" His cadence becomes increasingly more deadly, eyes narrowing, and leaning forward in challenge.

"Fuck you!" he screams, throwing a wild punch, which easily gets caught by the wolf. Isaac breaks every bone along the arm, then smashes his head into the brick and the assailant wails in immense pain, then crumples silently among the cold concrete.

Stiles breathes, relieved. Rolling up his sleeves absentmindedly, his nervous ticks get the better of him. Isaac looks up from his handy work, their eyes meet.

"I don't even see what he saw in you," Isaac states dismissively, turning away as he heads back home.

"Haha, so very fucking funny," Stiles flails about in his own quirky fashion, following the wolf. "I literally almost got raped back there, and you've got jokes. You know, you're something else, you know that, fuzzball?"

"Fuzzball?" Isaac inquires, looking back at the spazzy teen with one arched brow, "Aren't you more hairy than me even when I'm all wolfed out?"

Stiles gapes, then presses his lips tightly together, peering defeatedly at Isaac.

"Anyway, what are you doing out this late in these parts of town? We found your dad. What more are you after?"

Stiles remains silent as they walk the chilly streets. He felt somewhat obligated, and slightly curious. Isaac was a current, and Stiles didn't mind riding it wherever it may take him.

"I don't know. It just seems strange. Why would they just disappear like that? It makes no sense." Stiles' voice wavers as it usually does whenever the subject arises. Isaac feels a little guilty, moreso than Stiles, or anyone else, would ever understand. Even now, as Stiles pulse falters, Isaac feels the instinct to withdraw.

"Deucalion got what he wanted. There's no reason for him to stay."

Stiles isn't a werewolf, but he can tell when people are in a slump just fine. It sucked. Stiles knows, throughout his entire being and with absolute certainty, that if Isaac could have it any other way, things would have turned out differently. Yet, the smallest part of his being begged for something to blame. Deucalion and Kali were nowhere to be found. Ethan and Aiden should have been the go-to. However, it was Isaac that made the curtain call.

Stiles didn't stay for long. The conversation with Isaac that night wasn't one he'd have again any time soon.

"You two are planning something, aren't you?" Isaac doesn't answer. It wasn't really a question to begin with. He just breathes, and wonders why it was Stiles' voice which muted out millions of others.

"If, by some tragic twist of fate, that it was me that was bitten instead of him, I think my eyes would be blue too..."

Isaac waits up all night wondering, but the meaning never shows. He wants to tell him that it'd be alright, but Isaac doesn't know himself.


	3. Chapter 3

He's dreaming, or at least he has his eyes closed.

Some days Isaac feels the weight of the world raining down on the window pane. It's heavy and sombre. He listens to the continuous, monotonous sound with eyes wide open, feeling immense and inexplicable sadness pouring over his dry bones. It paralyzes him. It crushes him. He spends the day in bed, completely still. Only the blood flowing in his veins, and the air flowing in his lungs reminded him that he was alive. He was alive. Today, he felt like he shouldn't be.

Pomp!

Ugh, he groans, pulling the covers tighter over his head.

Pomp! Pomp! Pomp!

Pomp!

He sighs, rustling out of bed. He recognizes the sound and heads over to the window. With the blinds up, it streamed sunlight with obnoxious intensity. Squinting, Isaac opens the window. He yawns as he waves good (afternoon) to the hunter.

"Nerf bullets," he observes, plucking the styrofoam ammunition from the window, "At least it wasn't rocks this time."

"Isaac!" Allison calls, returning the greeting. The plastic weapon sways in the sunlight, his sensitive eyes adjusting. "What are you doing still in bed? Derek sent me to get you."

Obviously. It isn't as if people visit him on a whim. Since when were the Argents and Derek cool anyway? Since when was Chris Argent cool with letting his daughter play emissary (and not in the druidly fashion) for the older man? Where were his paternal instincts, or was that something exclusive to mothers?

"Yeah... Of course. I'll be down in a minute." he huffs behind unbrushed golden locks, and retreats into his room. A minute later, he's back at the window, looking down at the beautiful Argent. Fully dressed in a plain T-shirt and blue jeans, he contrasts with her usual dark attire and skin tight leather.

"Come on," she beckons with a slight smile and elegant fingers.

He jumps out the window.

"Oh my god," she exclaims, darting out of the way as he lands far too close for comfort. His legs easily absorb the shock of the fall, yet it was his shoulder which absorbed Allison's, "I meant for you to use the stairs. The things you climb up and down?" Isaac smirks as they start walking.

"This way was quicker." He shrugs and she threatens to shoot him with a nerf dart. He shies away, smirking, with his hands up.

"You have nice bed hair,"Allison comments, petting the bouncing golden curls. Her fingers are relaxing, and they send a tingling sensation down his spine, yet the moment was fleeting. Isaac hardly feels touch, not like this anyway. He isn't used to it. So, he just bunch up his face, and curses the fact that he forgot to brush his hair today.

Sweat rolls down his temples, his chest heaving in exhaustion. They'd been at it nearly five hours non-stop. His battered body would heal, but he could still feel the pain reverberating throughout his entire being. When Derek trains him, he holds nothing back. They didn't have the time for it. Sometimes, he would have Allison shoot indiscriminately at them just to up the ante.

This isn't all about you. This training is just as much for me as it is for you.

Being the only one getting his bones broken, and pierced full of arrows sure could have fooled him.

He found that no matter how hard he tried, Isaac didn't have the strength to do any significant damage to the alpha. Even blocking was useless. Derek would just smash through his defense like a wrecking ball. No, Isaac wasn't getting any stronger, not at all. The fact remained though... Isaac could hear Derek's body rippling the air, crashing upon him in harsh tempo. Isaac his eyes. An instant of absolute silence. Derek's arm arcs in an uppercut, and Isaac can already imagine its full trajectory. Cupping his palm over the sledgehammer, Isaac uses his overwhelming strength to vault over the Alpha, landing behind him. Claws extended, Isaac turns quickly so as to swipe Derek's exposed back, but he hears the Alpha lowering his body, leg extended. A lower leg sweep. Isaac's swipe with his left misses. Forced to dodge, or get pinned to the cold concrete, Isaac cartwheels over Derek, using his back as a platform. Derek is by no means slow, using his crouched body mass to launch himself at Isaac. He can imagine all that force connecting with his ribs, and it only serves to heighten Isaac's reflexes as he calmly listen to all of Derek's movements. A clutch pirouette is the dance Isaac uses to match his music. Derek's momentum nearly has him crashing into one of the steel support beams, but he easily runs it up, transforming that momentum into a brutal downward kick. Isaac merely backsteps out of the way.

Phfew!

It's an almost painful sound to Isaac, and he hears it instantly. He catches the heartseeking arrow, eyes wide as it rolls out of his palms, clattering uselessly to the floor.

That shot might have killed him.

Derek easily catches him distracted, locking his head between his hefty arms.

"One little distraction and you died. Do better next time," Derek saids calmly to a struggling Isaac. He lets go, allowing the wolf to breathe.

"What's the fucking point of this? I'm not getting any stronger playing out of my league.," Isaac huffs between ragged breaths.

"You aren't getting any stronger, but that's not the point," Derek begins, folding his arms across his chest, glaring between fixed facial features. Isaac looks up from his spot on the floor, brows wrinkling in confusion and exhaustion.

"You're finally playing to your strengths. You may not be strong, but you are fast. In fact, you're probably the fastest beta I know." Derek smiles, genuinely proud of the progress. Isaac takes it in, and gives a brief little half smile himself. He looks over at Allison and she's beaming herself. He wishes he could be as proud as them, but there's just something bothersome about it all. He stands up, dusting the dirt off his fingers.

"Omega." he corrects, glaring with a slight hint of hatred lining his eyes, "the fastest omega you know."

Derek seems taken aback, but then softens his demeanor, "Look, you might not be my beta anymore, and you might not be pack," he points directly and commandingly at Isaac, "but you're family. Always remember that."

Stiles has more on his mind than anyone could ever know. He just had no idea when Isaac started to occupy the spaces where... He had friends to find, family to protect, and both to mourn. It wasn't anything different. His heart always seemed to be squeezing, constricting, like he just couldn't get enough air. Nothing new. It was a feeling that stayed with him since his mother died. Through the loss of his old nanny, his dad, and his best friend, he felt like drowning. Take that last breath and just drift into eternal slumber. Peacefully. Yet his mind would wander to those beautiful blue eyes, and for the moment, he didn't feel so alone. Isaac would understand. He'd give him his ass to kiss, and tell Stiles he's a neurotic jelly bean. He's running with wolves and can't keep up. Isaac knew what was behind the sarcasm; Stiles knew what was behind the sass.

He never even paid that much attention to him before. Maybe he was just trying to fill that gap.

He's such a terrible person.

He'd have to bribe Ethan into telling him what he knows.


	4. Chapter 4

Distinctive, crisp, and bitter, the floral scent draped around him like a maiden silk scarf. It's funny, he thought, how quickly they resort to this lavender elegance as a weapon against the supernatural - against werewolves. A slow, deep inhalation invites the fragrance, rounded and mellow. No, this flower is dangerous to all, not just him and his kind. This wisteria silk a harbinger of death. But at a safe distance, there lay a subtle sweetness to the way it carved the air. He was quite fond of it.

"That's the last of it," she says trotting up to Isaac. All night, they'd been at this. Isaac couldn't do it himself, but he had to make sure the positioning was just right.

"Okay. Let's run it one more time? We've got to get this perfect."

"That's fine. We practically have all night," she returns, scanning the immediate forest, then looking him straight in the eyes. She often wishes she could find some small warmth deep in those frigid oceans, but that was hardly ever the case. On a night such as this, with merely a sliver of moonlight aiding the crystal obsidian above, it seemed like a small thing to ask. A cool breeze ghosted her bones.

"Stay behind me. Track me. Hunt me. Just don't let me know you're there."

Allison nods. She could do this.

They begin, as if they were blind. The wisteria maidens danced under the sombre night, silken scarves beckoning, billowing in the wind. Maybe it was in Isaac's nature to always feel this way, supernaturally attracted to dangerous things. There always seems to be some hidden beauty he could appreciate where no one dared to venture. Allison was a lot like wolfsbane in that regard. It was also why he couldn't get too close. Admire from afar. Let the scent guide him to that special place, a clearing where no moonlight shines. There, they would bring him out.

"..."

Absentmindedly, Stiles clicks the retractable ballpoint pen insipidly. He was bored. Everyone in the immediate vicinity was subject to whatever inane undertaking as a result of quelling said boredom.

"No."

He was definitely bored. Didn't anyone know anything about the quirky intellectual? At least by now, one would think people would be a little more compliant. He always wore down resistance eventually.

"Look, I can't. Would you please drop it?"

Cli-click!

Cli-click!

He continues at a painfully slow and deliberate pace, his cheek resting in his hands. His lips a dull, flat line, he stares with vapid adoration at the writing utensil. It'd be easier if they didn't have to go through the motions. The clicking was obviously grating on the nerves of every surrounding student in the silent library, but to the alpha, he knew it only magnified the nuisance. For Stiles though, it was simply a mechanical task which actually kind of helped him focus his racing thoughts.

"Stiles. Sti -" click! "OKAY!" Ethan exclaims exasperated, perhaps a little too loudly as several heads swiveled in response to the outcry.

"Okay, jeez, I'll talk."

"Good, because I was beginning to think I'd have to bribe you with embarrassing information about your boyfriend. Looks like I won't have to resort to that,"

Ethan flashes a look of pure curiosity and confusion before shaking out the thought, pinching his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

"I'm not even going to - whatever. Look. We can't talk about it here." Ethan whispers in defeat. Stiles takes the victory, smiling inside as he leads the alpha out of the library and into the empty supply closet. Danny's face when he saw Stiles' grip on Ethan's wrist was priceless, and Stiles sort of wishes he'd gotten it on camera.

"Okay start talking."

Ethan's arms are folded as he leans against the door, looking down. Start talking. Funny. Wasn't he supposed to be the alpha? He and his brother...

"I don't really know what you want me to say..."

"ANYthing!" The floodgates of Stiles' reason and demeanor suddenly snap, and Ethan can clearly see the pain and desperation in his eyes, "Ever since last month, nobody has been telling me anything. All around me, people are moving and planning, and plotting. I can feel it, but no one is letting me in," Stiles reduces to a simmer, exhaling, "It really sucks doing this on my own."

Ethan is silent for a moment, losing himself in his thoughts.

"Unfortunately, I don't have much to tell you. If you hadn't noticed, Isaac hates me." Ethan shifts his weight from the door to his heels, a small smile creeping along his lips. "Whatever it is, it's definitely happening tonight. I can smell the anxiety building to the breaking point."

"Tonight?" Stiles perks, his inquisitive nature coming out, "Have they found them?"

"I don't think so. Even if they did, this is Deucalion and Kali we're talking about. Allison and Isaac stand no chance.

Stiles hangs his head, threading his fingers together. His thumbs chase each other in small circles.

"And Aiden," he speaks softly, treading lightly.

"Yeah..."

Stiles isn't particularly fond of the twins either, but he could respect Ethan to some degree. He isn't comfortable with where he was taking this conversation, but Stiles was curious. This was something he needed to know, or else he'd go crazy trying to figure it out himself.

"Why did he stay? Does he care nothing for all the people he's hurting?"

People like his own brother?

"You're human, Stiles. It isn't something you can truly understand. The bond between Alpha and Pack is something that's more powerful than you can imagine."

"Stronger than the bond between twin brothers, apparently. Twins... that fuse."

Silent settles between the two, leaving Stiles wondering if he had crossed the line somewhere. Yet, Ethan seems remarkably calm. If only he had the werewolf lie detector. That magical ability to be keen on the emotions people try to hide.

"Actually. That bond might've been the thing that saved me."

Restlessness dominated his actions that day. It ran through his veins, a spazztic, jittery energy. His claws itched, and relentless tapping wouldn't sate. His heart thumped erratically and boisterously loud and he could literally hear it lub-dubbing off tempo in the empty echo chambers of the hallway.

"If you hadn't noticed, Isaac hates me." He hears them, a barely audible whisper so loud it drowns out his anxious terms. He wasn't much for eavesdropping, though he could easily get away with it. What were they doing in the closet anyway?

"Was Stiles flirting with you in the closet?"

"What? No! He's not my ty-"

"Relax, I was kidding. I doubt he's anyone's type. But I do want you to be careful. Hanging around him means hanging around him."

"They aren't that close, Danny."

Well. That much was true. It never really occurred to him how much Danny resented him. Personally he had nothing against Danny, but their completely opposing feelings toward Ethan made it logical that he would hate him. Not as if it mattered much. Isaac had other, more pertinent issues to resolve.

Here they were again. Where normal teenagers convene on a friday night, gathered by the light of a television screen and crunching kernels of fresh, buttered popcorn, Argent and Lahey reconciled to sacrificing such luxuries. Their light was the ambient glow by the forest's edge, and they crunched on fallen pines and crisp leaves, rocks, and sprightly blades of grass undertow. Their convention lied snug between two trees, a rocky outcropping governed by a single, smooth stone large enough for both to sit upon.

"You ready?" he asks eye to eye. She gives a small nod. He can hear the fear in her heart. Good. Fear was good. Keeps you on your toes.

Through the darkness, Isaac's eyes pierce. Something about it this time, sharpening all his senses to the world around him, made him feel alive and more powerful than he's ever been. He's always been the one running. This time, he's the hunter gliding through the night like a phantom. He picks up the familiar scent and it courses through his veins, sparking the thrill to a fever pitch. His inner wolf's instinct guides him. The forest was alive with a symphony of sounds only audible to him. Stronger, louder, Isaac closed in on his target. He was frightened, yet he was excited. More than just a grudge match, this was a fight for survival for his wolf.

She stood in a small clearing, lithe and lethal frame edged by the glow lining her smooth dark skin. Beautiful, the pits of his stomach raged into a frenzy, spreading to his weakened limbs. She turns slowly, greeting him with a coy smile and searing crimson eyes.

"Poor Isaac. Like an unleashed puppy, you've run into the middle of the road." She sneers, advancing on her prey with slow deliberate steps.

"What, are you going to run me over? I've always thought your face looked familiar, it turns out it reminded me of a truck!" He retorts quickly, turning his head and cringing as Kali bares her fangs and roars at the the insult, then grins at his obvious fear.

"Why did you come here Isaac? You're a handsome one. Surely you aren't stupid enough to think you can take me."she says, every sultry syllable accompanied by a threatening step forward.

"I wonder," he begins, and Kali raises a questioning eyebrow, "I'm wondering exactly the same thing," Isaac's voices shifts from casually sarcastic, to deathly cold, and his eyes do the same. Frigid steel orbs. Isaac looks up, toward the waning crescent.

Kali laughs.

"You wear those pair of eyes well. Though I prefer them painted in red." growling, she lunges at Isaac with fatal grace. Her claws rip through the fabric of Isaac's shirt, barely grazing the skin. Isaac let his guard down and almost paid for it. She's quicker than Derek, but by the air pressure colliding with his body, and the way hers whistles through the air, he could tell she wasn't as strong. Stronger than him still, but not strong enough to shatter his bones with every impact.

There was no way. He could hear her every movements, so well that he could imagine exactly where she would end up. But she was lightning. Her coordination and flexibility was supreme. Every attack nearly broke skin, Isaac only able to dodge in near-misses. He felt the fight or flight sensation course through him, arousing his body to its physical extremes. No choice, he had to go through with it. Run. Run far and fast, just run.

Track me. Hunt me. You'll never take me.

Truthfully, Isaac could lose her if he wanted. She was stronger and terrifyingly quick, but she hadn't hit him yet. Isaac was faster, not by much, but it's all he'd need to get away. But Isaac was the hunter here, not Kali. He was always the hunter. Let her flail. Let her tire. He'd go for the kill afterwards.

"You can't run Isaac!" she roars, viciously swiping at him with her foot claws, using a tree trunk as a pivot point. Her body is a menacing spinning top, but Isaac jumps, turns around, and slashes her face as she comes up.

They both stand there surprised.

Oh shit.

Allison tenses, looking in the direction of the indignant roar.

Panting, Isaac peers at the imposing woman through a curtain of blood. He had it. His body was finally getting used to her speed. He could hear it all in slow motion, but he got distracted by a worthless victory. Damn it, he was almost there. The clearing, the special place. Where he needed to be, only a few more steps.

"It was a nice try though. Setting wolfsbane all throughout the forest, I'd say you've been planning this for a while, haven't you?"kneeling down, she meets Isaac eye to eye. She pets his bloodsoaked curls fondly where she split his head against a solid tree. He recoils, beaming at her with all the intensity of his hatred. This time she sincerely looks confused, eyes narrowing, inspecting him for a few earth shattering moments. Then the triumphant smirk reveals itself once again.

"Oh, aren't you interesting," she says, chuckling, "I might not kill you after all. You're just a worthless omega...but a special one."

Without warning, Isaac tackles the femme fatale, pinning her to the ground, doing his best to intimidate her for the briefest moments with the most threatening growl he can muster. Using the time he's made for himself, he darts into the clearing. He crumples, still dazed by the impact with his skull.

"It's useless Isaac. It seems I will be the one to take you."

"How's that, when I've already got you?" Isaac pants, squinting up at Kali. Isaac decides he loves the look of confusion that crosses her face. It wipes off that damned smirk of hers, shows her weaker side.

"You've finally caught the scent, huh? It's too late now." Allison chides, pouring the last of the mountain ash into formation.

"NO!" Kali screams, running up to Allison, but it was too late. She collides with the barrier, trapped, screaming and exasperated. She turns to Isaac, trying him, but groans in misery when it fails. He hair frayed in her frenzy, she chuckles.

"Of course."

"You were too busy trying to slash his throat and avoid the wolfsbane that you didn't notice Isaac was leading you deeper and deeper into your own cage. With every step, a cage door shut behind you, and you didn't even realize." Allison spat, standing tall and stark to the she-wolf.

"There are forty two rings of mountain ashe around you. You're never getting out of here unless you tell us where they are."Isaac shivers, much less imposing. He was already healing, but it would take a night's rest to be rid of disorientation. And it was pretty chilly, and he had four gaping holes in his shirt.

Kali wags her finger, slowly shaking her head, "Nuh huh. What's going to happen is, as soon as I'm out of here, I'm going to murder you slowly and painfully."

Isaac and Allison exchange glances.

"Let's leave her here to starve. She'll talk when she's hungry enough." Isaac nods, reaching up to Allison. They leave her, surprisingly calm.

Halfway out of the forest, Allison realizes something, and Isaac hears the little stutter in her heart.

"What? What is it?" Isaac asks, startled and curious.

"Isaac, did you... nevermind, don't worry about it."

"Wait, shh." Isaac stops them, completely still. He had been monitoring Kali the whole time. Something was wrong. Two heartbeats. No. It couldn't be.

"Run."

"Isaa-?"

"Run. Now!"Isaac exclaims, begging, demanding. Allison complies until she realizes Isaac running in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?"

"Please, go home. Just. Please?" He pleads, briefly turning around. Allison doesn't really know what to think. Why do they all try keeping her from danger? Did they still not trust her own battle prowess? Isaac of all people should know how capable she was, why was he...

Before she could protest, he was already gone. The idiot still had a concussion.

He wasn't fool enough to get close. He just needed to verify.

He was right. The sight made his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach. A feeling akin to being popped and deflated of all the resolve that kept him afloat overcame him as he watched from his niche in the darkness. Powerful, incredible, and determined were always qualities of his, all of which were on display, shattering the barrier with his own immense strength. His own force of will.

They met, the slant intimidating vermillion gaze with frozen steel blues. Glowing, leering against the oblivion of the night. His gaze stole his breath away.

Scott.


	5. Chapter 5

His small, limp form huddled in Isaac's embrace reminded him of nothing. The passage of time waltzed on like the thumping of his heart, rhythmic and warm on to a dull, lifeless halt. This small lifeform would move on, but Isaac wasn't sure he could. The waters rose; the ground cracked. As his claws receded, and dark flakes peeled off the skin, Isaac made sure his sending would be sweet. A gentle float as his life ebbed away into a mellow sunset, much like the elements of sound took himself away. He shared his memories, uncertain whether or not he'd recieve them. The thought helped him cope. His sweet cousin parting with fear and admonition of the wicked reality of the world he lives in seemed much too unfair. He wasn't very good at it, but perhaps... Perhaps he could let him go softly. Painless. Fearless. How it should be.

Then, he would hasten the demise of the bastard that put them in this situation.

Isaac had two choices: run for Scott who was about to make the worst decision of his life, or save his last remaining kin. He couldn't do either. Instead, he found Caspar in critical condition - kidney and liver slashed moments before, with the glance of ebony flowing hair wisping away, disappearing around a corner. The sadistic giggle melded into the cacophony of Caspar's screams, the frantic evacuation of the hospital, the manic dissonance of desperation. Isaac knew pain, every facet of the word. He could deal, even if it ment slicing through his fragile tongue, and letting the blood drip down his rigid jaw. It's hard, thinking of all the good things and warm memories while experiencing indescribable agony. The complacency in those deadning green eyes lent him the drive to take it all. All the hurt of losing his last, the hopelessness of losing his alphas, the fear and anger of his own powerlessness, the physical torture of taking all of Caspar's pain, and the mental despair in watching him fade out of existence. His breathing. His heartbeat. His life. Isaac could no longer hear it. Death was Silence. Silence was nothing.

He ended it. With all the turbulence whirring in Isaac's head, Caspar could only think how warm and comforting those golden eyes were, what they would look like if they were smiling? Probably very beautiful, like the shining sun.

Isaac could only think of how red everything was. How those savage, crimson eyes glaring at him through the darkness reminded him of that night everything moved in slow motion. Crimson pools he seemed to sink in. Why was he always drowning? The way Scott's gaze ripped through him, like a predator, Isaac wondered if he was even fighting it anymore?

It was something he could fight.

"He's mine," Kali growls, motioning to lunge at the stationary wolf. He wouldn't have put up much a fight, or gotten very far anyway, but Scott stops her. Thankfully, his head swimming with a gaggle of confusing thoughts, he began to feel dizzy and somewhat vertigo. He would have been perfectly fine if it were just him, but he could hear the clumsy trodding of a certain individual and the much more graceful of one he specifically asked to go home. Why couldn't they just...

It seemed he had no power to stop anyone.

"Don't hurt him." Scott says softly, the predatory gaze remaining locked on Isaac's icy blues.

"Just because he used to be your little friend doesn't mean he gets any special treatments. You're our pack now." Kali snarls, bloodlust evident in the curl of her lip.

"It's not just that. You heard them. There are barriers all around us, you'll just run into another one. I got caught too for tailing so close to you. Breaking these takes a lot out of me, so can we please just go?" Scott pleads, giving her his begging face, brows furrowed and eyes bright.

"I'll just kill him as soon as all these barriers are taken care of. I know where he lives," Kali smiles, giving Scott a daring look. He peers, his demeanor shifting to a noticeably more challenging pose.

"He'll be gone by the time I do,"Scott turns to Isaac, the undertones of the command apparent, "They'll all be gone," he expresses loudly enough for Stiles and Allison to hear as they trot and stride respectively next to Isaac, "and I wont hesitate to kill you myself if you try it," his voice emanates a low, resounding growl that seemed to vibrate from deep within the earth itself.

Allison kneels next to Isaac, whispering Are you okay? softly in his ear. He nods vacantly, attune to the churning tempest brewing within Stiles.

"Scott?" his tiny voice breaks, the shattered pieces of his composure reminded Isaac all too well of the his own deluge of broken emotions. It's a haughty part of himself he didn't want to see reflected in anyone else, the timid, frail insecurity brought on by the instinctual response to trying to hold the world up, his world, while it's falling apart. The look they exchange knots Isaac's chest, and he can imagine the the things Stiles is feeling.

Some part of him hated Scott for making him feel that way. All the while, Kali retained a sickeningly amused look on her face.

"Hey, Scott," he waves stiffly,"You should come home already, everyone misses you. I miss you," he pleads as his voice quivers. Despite his welcoming disposition, tears threaten the overtake. He knew. Allison knew. Isaac knew.

Scott's reply is gentle, begging for absolution..

"I can't."

He hears it too, a prominent grimace carving his features, and Kali's amused grin widens.

"Your mother has been crying her eyes dry since you left. It isn't fair. I understand trying to protect her, and trying to protect us, but Jennifer is dead. My dad is safe! There's no reason for you to stay!"

Isaac breathes silently, lets his eyes fall shut. His mind wonders to that night he killed his cousin, his fingers drenched in his blood. Maybe the insatiable desire to take all the pain away was selfish. As if he could apologize for letting that happen in the first time by putting himself through all the excrutiation Caspar would have been through. Would anything be any different if he chose to bring Scott back instead? Perhaps not. Either way, Caspar didn't deserve it.

"I can't." he says, turning, walking away with Kali.

And neither did Stiles.

Isaac hears Stiles call after Scott, Allison trying to keep him from running after. The word like a steady, sturdy rhythm. Each utterance a strike against the gates of his inhibition. Until, finally, the gate swung open and with full force. Suddenly, Isaac goes full wolf, eyes shining otherworldly azure, claws extended, and snarling menacingly. Here, he has a chance at changing their circumstances, to gamble at a different future. He was sure he was just being selfish again, to be able to say he tried, but he wouldn't be able to look Stiles in the eyes again if he didn't.

"Isaac!" Scott's command roars through his body, rooting him in place. Something in Isaac grips at him, and he hates it. He doesn't want to stop, but Scott's influence over him holds firm. Submission just felt natural, it felt right. Conflicted, Isaac looks with uncertainty from Scott to Stiles and Allison. Go. Wait. What should he do?

"Go home, Isaac." And that was that. If Scott commanded, Isaac had no choice but to listen. He trotted back to the two, looking confused and innocent at the same time, like a child reprimanded. He looks over his shoulder, seeing Scott off with Kali. It angers him, him with the bitch that killed sentenced Caspar to death, yet Scott's command prevents him from doing anything, much to his dismay.

Isaac drops to the ground in a huff, looking up, stunned, at a distressed Stiles.

"What the hell was that?"

"Stiles-"Allison starts, but she goes unheard behind Stiles' building rage.

"So you're just going to give up? Just like that, just because he said stop?" Isaac isn't even looking at him, rather looking timidly at the dark patches of grass between his legs. More than the anger, there's anguish lining his words. Isaac couldn't blame him. He didn't understand. He couldn't understand, Stiles isn't a werewolf. All the little idiosyncrasies that came with it, he couldn't experience.

"No wonder you're an omega. Just a submssive bitch for everyone to abuse? Yeah, I believe it. I see it now."

Yeah. Ouch. Isaac realizes several things in that moment. He understands why Scott can't come back, just like how Isaac couldn't chase after him. He knows Stiles is disappointed, that he was expecting a heartfelt try. They weren't all that close, but he knows he doesn't really mean it. But all the same..

"You're right," he whispers, azure eyes glowing beneath golden curls, "I am an omega," his voice deadly. Suddenly, he sprints back into the clearing, and gazes skyward to the pale silver moon. He howls, long and lonely, loud enough for Scott to hear. He is an omega, a lone wolf with no ties to any other. He finally understood what that meant. Not that his ties to pack were nonexistent, because he still considers Allison friend, and he kinda likes Stiles. No, Omega is a state of freedom. He has no Alpha - he was no beta. The moment he lets one influence him, he becomes that alpha's beta. He had always been Scott's beta, and to be honest, he would love to have it that way forever. But under the circumstances, he couldn't indulge in being Scott's, or anyone else's submissive. He is his own, even if he has to be alone.

Isaac plops down again, crossed legged when he's finished, not moving or looking up when Allison glides over to his side. Stiles, brooding, follows.

"Okay,what was that?"Allison asks, this time the question full of curiosity rather than condemnation. In all her training, and in all her experience, she never witnessed a werewolf howl like that before.

"I don't know," Isaac answers dejectedly. They let silence settle between them.

Another wolf answers the clear night. Isaac smirks with satisfaction. He turns to Stiles, "He's coming home. It may not be now, but Scott's coming home." In his eyes, Isaac searches for absolution. Their smiles gave him that, the reconciliation he desired for failing.

Without warning, another wolf answers Isaac's call, and his smile fades and eyes widen, throwing him into the confines of his thoughts.

"Who's howl was that?" Stiles asks in jittery confusion, pointing in the (wrong) direction he thought it originated.

"Aiden..." Isaac whispers in disbelief, "Aiden wants out too."

Isaac's mind wanders to Ethan, how the duo went solo after settling it with the Darach. He wasn't fond of the two, but he could respect their situation. How they were just as powerless as Isaac was in shaping their circumstances.

He seemed to be rethinking things a lot lately.

This wasn't a common thing, holding a conversation with Allison. Normally, he'd spend his time having awkward, yet sassy back and forths with Lydia, but as of late she seemed a little dazed. Except when talking with Allison of course. Stiles writes it off as a girl thing, but he's pretty sure it had to do with Aiden. She always seems to chase guys with power and authority, and look where it gets her. Alone again. What's wrong with Stiles? He's right there, always has been. He thought maybe after that kiss, it would go up from there. It was all he ever wanted anyway. Except maybe full access to that any time, anywhere. Oh well.

"Stiles, what was it you wanted? We're going to be late for English."

"Oh! Right," he snaps out of his rampant thoughts, remembering what he pulled her aside for, "Have you noticed anything odd going on with Isaac lately? Anything at all?"

Allison huffs, giving him a small smile, "Isaac's always a little offbeat," she pauses, thinking for a moment, "Kind of like you, but in a different way."

Stiles grimaces in response, lips long and flat, "Ha-ha, you know what I mean," he deadpans. "You spend more time with him than other people do, so I thought you could confirm something for me."

"Hm. Well," she paces toward the next class, slowly, "There was one thing. When we trapped Kali in the rings of mountain ashe, I forgot to break and reform the barriers when we were walking back before Scott came. He was walking right through, or so I thought. Maybe Scott broke them."

"No, that's impossible."Stiles stresses, walking backwards as his hand gestures start making wide arcs in the air, "Remember? Scott said he had to break them on the way back. And, when I threw wolfsbane in his face the other night, it was definitely enough to KO one of them for weeks on end. He even had a little in his hair on the way out."

"You WHAT?" Allison demands, shocked and a little pissed he would do something like that to Isaac. A friend.

"Um." he gapes, twiddling his thumbs as he twitches in guilt. "I might have responded a bit excessively to what may have been a joke."

Allison scoffs and rolls her eyes.

"So you're saying he's immune?"

"Or at the very least, highly resistant. Which means - "

"He's not the enemy, Stiles," she warns, seeing where his worries lie. It might have been a bit unfair, because those natural counters were the only weapons he had against them. If one could become immune, who's to say others can't either? Deucalion didn't seem to be affected much by them either. There had to be something more to it, and that something was what Stiles was really after.

"I know, I know!" he relents, inhaling to calm his overactive processes "I know." Thinking about it in a simple mannar, he hadn't been anything but helpful.

"Just leave it to Isaac and me. We want him back too."

He knew he should. But surely Allison knew he couldn't do that, sit back and do nothing.

Another night. It seemed somewhat strange to him, just relaxing in his bed on a Saturday night. usually worked through the night onwards into a subtle morning, leaving him to his own devices. The television ran idly. Commercials fluxed into shows, but Isaac hardly payed attention to it. He concededs to lying on his back, arms spread and legs splayed, one hanging off and swinging softly against the bed. With the music flowing through the earbuds, he sunk in peacefully. He hung on the precipice of sleep, and once he thought he might tip over, the sound of bolts turning brought him to sudden awareness.

He winces, heading downstairs.

"You're using the door now?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Oliver Tank, Daughter, Civil Wars, Narrative, Death Cab For Cutie, Yuna, Paper Kites, Shlomoh, and the complete pirated soundtrack to Kingdom Hearts. Goddamn dude, you need more happy music."

Isaac rolls his eyes at the prying teenager as he shuts the bedroom door behind. Stiles plops himself carelessly on the bed, rifling through the golden's playlist.

"Oh, Paramore! and Fray. Not exactly a huge step up, but close enough," he looks up from the phone's screen, giving Isaac an approving nod, and thumbs up.

Isaac, still a little unsettled at the Saturday night intrusion, shrugs, then takes the phone from him and inserts an earbud.

"What are you even doing here?" he asks nonchalantly, turning to "Places". He was still a little hung up on Stiles using the door, where only two months prior, he would have climbed the window.

Stiles licks his lips and shrugs, "I could sense your boredom on the other side of the city. I was bored too. I'm bored, you're bored, we're both bored. May as well be bored together," he rambles, and Isaac is peering at him with an arched brow by the end of it. His head angled to scan the screen of his phone, his eyes dart back, changing the song to "Genius Next Door", not acknowledging his answer in anyway. The way Isaac figured, he must have come for something less benign than a simple house call. No one just came over to hang out. Why would this be any different?

"And I thought I should apologize," Stiles breathes, his voice a tender tone, "For, uh. You know. The whole omega thing. And the whole wolfsbane to the face," he's tracing the air with his hands, and his palms, and making facial expressions Isaac has only seen on Stiles, "ordeal." Isaac chuckles, but he realizes it comes across more like a scoff, as if he's dismissing the apology altogether. He can see Stiles' face scrunch up in disappointment. Naturally, Isaac had already forgiven him. Beyond the fact that Isaac had tried to kill Stiles' unrequited love, which probably made it even, he earnestly didn't think much of either accounts. It didn't stop Isaac from screwing him.

"You called me a submissive bitch," Isaac states passively, the challenge hidden in his even tone. Watching Stiles squirm under his skin was rather amusing, the heat of embarrassment boiling under, making him itch and scratch awkwardly. The silence does nothing to dissipate it. He smirks at the brunette, finally deciding to listen to "We Build Then We Break".

"That's because you are," Stiles retorts finally, chucking the nearest pillow at Isaac's head, realizing the game Isaac was playing. Isaac just lets it bounce off his head as he scrolls through applications. It lands gently in his lap, over his arms and cellular phone. Isaac's eyes lift to look at Stiles once more, shining them azure just to scare the shit out of him. Naturally, Stiles recoils, falling off the bed due to his own clumsiness.

He grunts as he collides with the hard wooden floor.

"Ow."

Slowly, Isaac peers over the bedside.

"I'm no longer bored," he says, smiling haughtily.

"Shut up."

Oh so you're sorry now? All is not well, it's not ending. Isaac tenses, then shivers under the haunting melody. Perhaps he did hold some measure of contempt for the boy on the floor, but it seemed so insignificant compared to the amount of respect he had for the young detective. Granted it wasn't much. Still enough to outweigh the malice and spite that brewed in his heart for all things.

Isaac decides he rathers the slow and mundane to his usual life. Or at least, he thinks, there should be some perfect balance between the two. Or perhaps him sharing a mundane night with another soul made experiencing the mundane less... mundane. The water colors and lilac that bathed him nightly were soaking into another's soul. The pale cascade of television lights cascaded twice. Just the mere presence added a mysterious warmth to the thread bare house, added rhythm of breath, rises and falls, and the tempo of two heartbeats. Stiles added sound to an otherwise silent Saturday. It was more alive than it had been in months. Surprisingly, Isaac didn't have to pretend not to mind the overzealous teen. He found the words spilling from his mouth comforting. Filling. He found himself actually smiling in geniune amusement on more than one occaission.

"No, fuck that boss. I could never figure out how to beat him when I was younger. Even Sephiroth was easier," Stiles says, eyes glued to the fire emblem map on the television screen.

"Really? It seemed pretty simple to me. Hit him with a few spells. Stop the clock every now and again. Smooth sailing the rest of the way."

"Yeah, well, sue me for not owning the game. Had to give it back to Danny before he realized it was missing," he turns to Isaac, giving him a slick smile. Then, "Speaking of, I didn't know you were such a gamer. Your collection is, it's satisfactory," he gives him a thumbs up, going back to moving his units along the map.

Isaac scoffs, "I was abused, not poor." Though the juxtaposition to Jackson's house might have made it seem that way. It was normally quite cozy, and he had a lot of time to himself. Stiles becomes silent, probably due to paying attention to the enemy units trying to take out his Falcon Knight, Mia.

"Right." he says after awhile. Isaac can tell that the situation looks rather grim on Stiles' side, and he's feeling the pressure. As for his comment, Stiles wasn't sure if Isaac was just that comfortable talking about the past, or if it was residual bitterness which drove him to poke at his own wounds. Typically, Stiles prefers to think forward himself. Latch onto the beautiful things that make life worth living, and dust the painful memories into a dark closet. Lately though, those memories were piling up and the edges were spilling out, nearly visible for any guest's peruse.

Isaac sighs. He didn't mean to get the kid all worked up.

"So uh. How's the werewolf thing going for you? What's it like turning into a creature of the night?"

Pressing his tongue against his cheek, he thinks for a moment. There's a lot to it, even more so now than when Derek first bit him. It had been exciting, exhilarating, the feeling of being powerful and capable. Then there was always a roiling anger he consistently needed to keep in check. A second instinct pulls at him, like the moon to the tides. It was fearsome and ruthless, piquing his desire to hunt and kill. To drown out his humanity, his empathy and drench his teeth in the blood of his victim. Sometimes it became unbearable, and sometimes the will to resist was nonexistent.

"A bit like puberty." he says, tilting his head to the side. "What's it like having a heart of darkness?"

"Like losing somebody important repeatedly, every second of the day," Stiles deadpans as his Swordmaster, Zihark, crits an enemy halbadier into oblivion. Sadness emanates from his being. Isaac wasn't really that great at this... comforting thing, but he'd do the best he could. He slips off the bed, occupying the space on the floor next to Stiles. He remains focused on the game, but Isaac takes solace in the evening of his heart. They could relate, in more ways than makes Isaac comfortable.

"Doom is a nasty spell to put into Kingdom Hearts."

Stiles just gives the middle finger toward the unused playstation on the dresser, continuing to move his men.

"I wouldn't-" Too late. Turn over.

"ASTRA?!" he suddenly shrieks in surprise and indignation. Isaac can't breathe, he's laughing so hard. Stiles' jaw drops, and the gamecube controller tumbles out of his frozen hands in awe. He was certain his Falcon Knight would survive the round, but the enemy Swordmaster came strolling her way, handling a silver blade. Ordinarily, the two strikes, with her defense and insane amounts of luck, wouldn't have killed her.

"What the fuck?!" Stiles's voice shrill, "Oh my god! Astra! Why?" at this point, Isaac is guffawing, chest heaving in mighty laughter. Just seeing the sigh of relief when the unit missed his first hit turn to incredulousness as the green glow appeared around him, to astounded rage as the guy landed five hits was priceless.

"Are you crying? Oh my god, stop laughing!" he couldn't. He just couldn't, it was too much.

"Why the hell would they give some random unit Astra? I call bullshit."

And the best part? He had to start all over. Stiles hated having his units die. He lost again, however. The daring smile Isaac was giving him was entirely too distracting. Thin, wet lips between white washed tiny vessels, and the spark of life that captured in his eyes were a stark contrast to the hollow edge and forlorn demeanor he held the time Stiles asked about his eye color. He likes this Isaac, the one who smiles broadly, even with his eyes. His cerulean eyes welcoming rather than chilly spears which pierce the soul.

It occurs to Stiles that he doesn't really know Isaac, at least not like he knows Scott or Lydia. He knows about him plenty. Orphaned. Werewolf. Grave digger. Pretty much it. Wouldn't be so bad to get to know him, not at all. If he smiled like that more often, maybe people would have noticed him more.

Isaac catches on pretty quickly, how whenever his gaze settles on the smaller boy his heart quickens shamelessly. It makes him feel self-conscious, and a little embarrassed, so he shies away from eye contact. Inspect the unattended iotas about the room. Anything to keep him from feeling this strange.

Twelve o'clock rolls around, and the two decide on an old Nightmare on Elm Street film. They lay atop the comforter, bags of chips and slices of sausage and cheese pizza haphazardly strewn between them. Isaac forgets how odd it is to have someone over for once, and Stiles is too busy talking about the production and cheesy lines to understand exactly how comfortable he is in Isaac's company. He's not like Scott. He gets the pop culture references, and understands the intricasies of the things he's explaining. Sometimes Isaac could be a little dense, but it wasn't near constant as with Scott. Eventually, they aren't even paying attention to the movie, instead sitting crosslegged and face to face, Stiles with pizza hanging out of his mouth, and Isaac plucking from a bag of Doritos.

"Red, green, or blue?"

He thinks for a moment, "Definitely green." He chomps the crisp chip, "You?"

"Much you have to learn, for the best is blue," Stiles answers giddily, finally being able to talk about Starwars to someone other than Greenburg.

Isaac shrugs, "I'm just a green kinda guy. And to be fair, I always thought purple suited you best." Stiles' eyes light up because he can totally see it, kicking drone ass with a purple lightsaber.

"Where is yours?" the question comes suddenly, and the sombre tone gives Isaac the notion that he isn't talking about about Starwars anymore. He raises his eyebrow in inquisition.

"We all keep it somewhere.. people like us. Mine is layered between the mattresses,"he indicates in his usual hand motion speak, "because I don't think I'm strong enough to keep it out in the open." his voice is small again, and almost cracks. Still a little confused, Isaac looks around the room for some form of a hint.

The epiphany strikes as his eyes fall on the stack of papers lining the desk. He retrieves a key from a hidden place in the closet and unlocks a small concealed drawer underneath the desk's table. There it is, a little worn since the day they took it. It's one of the few items he salvaged from his house which he didn't hold any amount of contempt for. He loved it, more than anything else in his possession. Certainly, the same could be said for Stiles.

Timidly, crawls back onto the bed, scratching the nape of his neck.

"This?" he asks precariously. Stiles' eyes tracks the face as Isaac lays it down carefully on the bed, away from the chips and pizza.

"She's beautiful," Stiles gapes. He can immediately tell where Isaac gets his beauty from, the brilliant blue eyes, insane golden locks and that wonderful, wicked smile. They were similar in ways that made Stiles' heart ache. She was gone from this earth, just like his own. It wasn't fair, how life steals away so suddenly and without recompence. How violent tides of unfortunate events rip people apart leaving scars in the heart where that person used to be.

"Big Ben. You guys visited London before?"

"Visited? I used to live there first six years of my life before moving to Beacon Hills."

"Wait so you're British?!" Stiles' arms wide open and mouth gaping, demanding explanation.

Isaac shrugs, "Mom was. My dad was touring when he met her near Big Ben, taking photos like any common tourist."

"I don't believe you. Where's your accent?"

"Up your arse, that's where." He says feigning anger, letting his old way of speaking come through just for him.

Stupified, Stiles smirks, waving the picture absentmindedly.

"This goes nowhere," Isaac warns, taking it from the dope.

"Of course," his smirk widens as his fingers knit behind his head. Totally not blackmail material.

Isaac can play this game too, inching closer to the young detective. Isaac's fingers gently caress the nape of Stiles' neck, the tender touch suddenly putting him on edge. He leans in close, his lips ghosting the shell of his ear, breath warm against his soft skin. Their cheeks mere milimeters apart.

He whispers, voice feather light, "I used to dig graves, you know."

Isaac pulls back, satisfied with the frenzy he put Stiles' body into.


	7. Chapter 7

"You are such an ass when I'm not petting you behind the ears," Stiles sighs, half frustrated, half bored.

The Husky grunts absently, sweeping its tail across the carpet. Stilling his fingers amid the the soft warmth of its fur, he breathes vacantly. It'd been an usual three days with this thing, and he wasn't sure if the storm had blown over or if he was merely in the eye of it. Already, he had a lot to deal with - figuring out a way to free Scott from Deucalion's command, figuring out what was going on in Isaac's little world, figuring out how to insert himself into his and Allison's schematics without getting duly pushed aside... Then this ass-hat of a dog impedes progress at every turn. Stiles swears this thing is sentient, because the level of nope was just too damn high.

It began on a Thursday, the evening weather mild and crisp. The sky was clear and it radiated vitality characteristic of the enduring fall. Overall, it was a pretty good day. Nothing extraordinary occurred during school - in fact, the work load was as mild as the air fresh, and lazy as a cool breeze. He was able to hold a conversation with Lydia today, which meant she hadn't run off into random closets much that day. Having hot and passionate make out sessions, with a much more muscular and sexually charged male than himself... who also happened to be a werewolf. An Alpha werewolf. Possibly even - yeah, okay. Thinking about that sort of thing was not okay. Only thing that would have made this even better would be a certain beta's presence to answer some of his burning questions. Those were normal questions to normal people, but for Stiles, if it wasn't burning, it wasn't a question. Honestly, Isaac confused Stiles. Sometimes, he could be an insufferable jerk. Others, he would be the sweetest guy anyone could know. Most times, Stiles wanted to hate the guy, and he had plenty of reasons to. Then Isaac would stroll along in the times that he's suffering and bring him up casually. Nonchalant, as if it were second nature. Arrogant, yet humble simultaneously. What made a guy so capricious?

Oh, excuse him, he meant ome-

And right as the thought escaped his consciousness, the start of this three-day nightmare began. As he rounded a sharp bend on his way home from school, the Husky darted out into the middle of the street, then just stared intently into the headlights, daring Stiles to run it over. Having no time to come to a safe stop, Stiles swerved the clunky jeep out of the way, and it rolled over harshly into a ditch. It occurred so surprisingly fast, it left Stiles stunned at the wheel. Snapping out of his daze, he patted himself over only finding a minor scrape across his left temple. Other than feeling sore, he was fine. Stiles sighed relieved.

"What the fuck was that?!" Stiles mini-spasmed, kind of hating the universe for spoiling such a fine day with a car wreck. Climbing out of the ditch, he inspected the damage only to find the Husky gazing down at the scene, completely still except for it's breathing.

"You caused this, you know." He snapped spitefully, garnering no reaction from the dog whatsoever.

"Isn't there a leash law around here? Whose dog are you anyway?" It's not as if he was expecting a reply. It just happened to be the only living thing around to talk to at the moment, and he was frustrated. He often talked to things when he was frustrated.

"Right, yes. Maul me to death after crashing my car! Because that's such a classy way to go." he jumped as the Husky snarled, apparently annoyed at the string of words falling from his mouth. It barked.

"Okay, shutting up."

It took off after that, into the shriveling woods.

Great. Stranded out in Beacon Hills woods. If experience was anything to go by, he was screwed.

Fortunately he only had to wait a half hour among the weird and the wild until Lydia finally picked him up. He wished the tow truck would hurry up and pick up is baby before some ferrophile came and ate his jeep... or used it as a freaking hatchery or something. That kind of thing wouldn't surprise him at all. Lydia made faces at him the whole way home, judging his wondering thoughts. Stiles was such a dork, and sometimes he worried too much. If it was something he had no control over, there was no point in fretting needlessly. May as well do whatever it is a Stiles does to pass the time until circumstances made themselves clear.

That happened to be fretting over the uncontrollable.

Sheriff worked late on a grand theft auto case, which was stupid considering how small Beacon hills was. Not many places to run or hide in this supernatural cradle unless fleeing the country was the aim. So while his dad was out working, Stiles figured he could shunt of his school work and prepare a congratulatory vegetarian dinner in lieu. He checked the fridge, but it only had a couple bottles of beer, some withered Romaine lettuce, a dreary, stale grape resting in the bottom drawer, three slices of American Craft cheese, and a pitcher of watermelon kool-aid. It was time to go shopping.

His first instinct was to call Scott so he could hitch a ride on his bike, but... He tried Allison, but her phone went straight to voicemail. One would think a Hunter would keep her phone charged at all times, considering the occupational hazard. He could forget about Lydia. You don't ask Lydia for favors twice in a single day. It was late, and pretty dark. He wasn't sure he could handle the nonexistent sexual tension between the two. Isaac didn't have a mode of transportation, but at least he could be his human meat shield if anything went down in the dark alleys. After yesterday, he was pretty sure Isaac wouldn't mind.

"He's at Ethan's. Something about a project?"

Well, looks like he's on his own. Which reminded him - they needed to get on their data collection sometime soon. This time, he wasn't taking the shortcut through the forest. It was dark anyway, and he's learned his lesson about that sort of thing.

He ended up getting ingredients for mushroom burgers, rather than a menial salad. Salads were boring. This way, he could trick his father into eating something healthy without being immediately turned off. He bought steaks for himself though, because fuck mushrooms. Steak was better.

Stiles came strutting out of the market, into the brightly lit parking lot with a huge goofy smile. Sarah, the cashier gave him a discount (and her number) because every once in a while, it pays to be a loyal patron to small businesses. And naturally likable, though too many people just couldn't see past the humor.

His smile faded. The creature stood there growling, its blue eyes and white fangs flashing menace.

"Great, you again," Stiles jumped then froze in place so as not to provoke the Husky.

"What did you do stalk me?" he snapped, and it barked deep and powerful, and Stiles could feel it shaking his bones. Terror didn't silence him though, but it did make him much more wary.

"Okay okay!" he shouted, slowly moving his hands in front of him in case it decided to jump on him, while slowly retreating. The Husky traced his movement with curiosity, and Stiles immediately noticed.

"What is it that you want...?" he said low, more to himself than anything. He rummaged through the shopping bags and pulled out the steak wrapped in plastic and brown paper, "Is this it, this what you want?" Stiles waved the meat in front of the Husky's face and it wagged it's tail eagerly. He did not want to relinquish the prime cut, but better the meat than his meat.

"Take it, you douche bag," he said as he flung the steak on the pavement. The Husky picked it up, trotting off happily at the prize it scored.

Stiles stared open mouthed at fading form, incredulous.

"Did I just get mugged by a dog?"

The Husky would make little cameo appearances that Friday, as if it were looking for just the right moment to harass him, steal his lunch money, or whatever else devious that demon dog had plotting. He saw it stalking the trees just outside the lacrosse field; he saw it through the window of his history class. He saw it streak across a street and into an alley, and he saw it sniffing around ye old dumpster as he left from recycling. He really should just call the pound, or animal control. Maybe some poor sap would be tricked into adopting the savage thing.

His weekend wouldn't be spent worried about some weird dog with a stalker fetish. Lydia was hosting a shindig down at the ice rink and he would totally be there. Disregarding his complete inability to stabilize himself on thin inches of steel, he was determined to have fun and get his mind off things. Then he became cornered by some feral looking, mangy mutts, three of them. He didn't quite remember where the stadium was, and became lost as these things usually happen. Somehow he just had the shittiest luck with canines. Werewolves where a thing, and now the less extraordinary wanted to rip out his throat. As if he didn't get enough of the threat already.

"Of course..."he rolled his eyes and sighed, kinda of sick of this thing's shit. The Husky emerged, illuminated by the intense sunlight painting its fur - silver coat dusted in sandy gold. Mutt master Jack. It had to be the ringleader of a cult of demonic hounds. Jack growled, as low and menacing as Stiles would grow accustomed to, but surprisingly, the other dogs backed off, tails between their legs.

All Stiles could think of was how beautiful Jack was for a stray.

It seemed pretty normal for Lydia to invite Allison and Stiles to get-together, but Ethan and Isaac was a little surprising, Ethan more so.

"They're cute together," she responded, and Stiles furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Ethan and Isaac?"

"No..." Lydia rolls her eyes, gesturing towards Danny helping Ethan with his balance on ice. Ethan visibly melting into Danny's touch, and the smiles they traded - all too much for him right now. He needed zero reminders of how very single he currently was, and the tease was completely and totally unfair. "Kinda hot if you ask me," she smiles coyly as she pulls Stiles stumbling onto the ice. The whole time, she never let go of his hand as she led him around the rink.

Isaac was a pretty damn good skater.

Lydia drove him home underneath the evening sun. Grateful for the entertainment and company, he smiled and waved her off. Soon as he got to his porch, his smile dropped.

"Dad, what are you doing?" he lead cautiously, breathing slowly.

"Uh..." the Sheriff looked up from his spot on the bench and answers, "Feeding a hungry and estranged stray?" The answer was more questioning - challenging the boy to find fault his decision. He scratched the Husky behind the ears, and it smiled and panted with its tongue lolling to the side.

"Sweet thing. Came by wanting to help look for the spare house keys which seemed to have gone missing from inside the awning." He raised his voice sternly, insinuating the cause of its departure. Stiles gave him a "well I didn't do it" look. Then looked straight into Mutt Master Jacks eyes. Feigning innocence with those cheap blue eyes. Stiles was on to his game, and he wasn't buying.

"I thought you said no pets!" Stiles exclaimed raising his arms.

"Of course not," Sheriff says matter-of-factly, "I'm going to take it to Deaton's. Hopefully someone will adopt it. You just - try not to get into any trouble, okay?"

Stiles went to sleep later that night, dreaming of cold, steel blue eyes.

Stiles had nothing on the agenda Saturday. He thought about calling Allison and softening her up. He was tired of canine interaction quite frankly, and all he wanted to do was just shut in and melt his brain with lots of video games, Youtube, and his right hand. He might have done a little research on subjects like social hierarchy in the animal kingdom, but he would have denied any and all connection with Aiden and Isaac's dilemma. Not like he cared that much about them to try to understand some archaic bond foreign to him. Especially not Aiden.

Although television wasn't technically part of the plan, there wasn't any plan to begin with, so who cared if he watched a little MTV downstairs? Quickly getting bored, he decided on Gumball instead. Becoming absorbed in the bright colors and cheerful animation, Stiles left it on that station and watched cartoons for hours straight. His dad came home early, probably just for lunch, and went upstairs straightaway. An episode of Teen Titans Go came on, a particularly hilarious one where Raven shed her cloak strutted her amazing legs and kicked bad guy ass as Lady Legasus.

"STILES."

"Uh yes dad?" he replied, swearing he could still hear his name reverberated throughout the house.

"Come. Here."

He swiftly ran up the stairs and to his dads - no...? Why was his dad in his room?

"We are not adopting this dog." Stern and clear as always - straight to the point.

"B-but dad - "

"No Stiles. As great as it would be to have Sammy around, I cannot afford to support your diet and the dog's." His dad added something about living off leaves and seeds on the aside, but Stiles pretended he didn't hear, more focused on why the hell this dog was curled up in his bed like he owned the place? The Sheriff checked his watch, then, "He had better be at Deaton's, or the pound, or somewhere by the time I get back."

The Husky went nowhere by the time Sheriff came back. Stiles tried, he really did try everything to expunge the demon from his house and life forever, but it was like trying to smack the white off his skin. Embarrassingly impossible. He even called Allison and asked her to use her Argently powers to slay the beast before him, but she just laughed and hung up. Jack strut around so arrogantly, and then growled like a bloodthirsty feral any time he attempted to persuade it to his bidding. With how sharp its teeth were and how frail his body was, he wasn't taking any chances. Any attempt at petting him was met with a low warning, or Jack just simply walking off. All bets were off it peed in his room though. Stiles would gladly show him the conclusion of Old Yeller if it fucking peed in his room.

"Can we take him back in the morning?" he asked, pretty certain his father would agree. For some reason, the thing liked his dad, and his dad reciprocated. Personally, he'd rather just be done with it, but dear god, he couldn't take another growl. That night, while Stiles was preparing for sleep, Jack crawled into his bed, curling up next to him. Whatever, he had long since succumbed to the tides he was pulling. It was pretty chilly, and he could use the extra warmth.

8

He lingered in the precipice of wakefulness and sleep, consciously unconscious and barely able to make out the morning which beckoned to him. Absently, Stiles perceived an encompassing warmth underneath and around him - an enveloping safety. The subtle rise and fall of broad sturdiness, strong, soft, and smooth, supported his resting cheek. Tendrils of comfort weaved through his unkempt hair, and he breathed fully in the security of slight pressure on his shoulder. Something like a pure and endearing happiness roiled in the pit of his stomach, the gentle heat extending to his limbs. The emotion was the raw and real kind which only ripped it's way uninhibited through the sleeping mind. Stiles had no clue what it was, but it made everything feel fleeting. As if all the agony and the constant worry were fragments of a memory, surreal and unimportant. As if this time, somehow, the morning hadn't a sinister reward saved for a later date.

He moaned and yawned happily as he woke, rejuvenated from the sheer amount of rest caressing his bones. As per his morning ritual, he sleepily wiped the drool from his cheek, then wiped the pool from the broad, soft che-

Wait.

"O-oh my god!" Stiles started, bolting out of bed. His surprise jarred the sleeping form awake, leaving both grasping for reason and explanation.

"Ohmygodohmgodohmygod, oh my god!"

"Sti-"

"What, the fuck. Isaac!" Stiles explodes out of confusion and disbelief and anger and embarrassment while Isaac attempts to cover his genitalia with his hands, made to grab the sheets, but decides it might not be appreciated. His wide eyes never leave Stiles bewildered expression, though he's wildly blushing and wishing he might spontaneously combust and forget this awkwardness ever happened. Just how intimate they'd been, how natural it felt - it wasn't supposed to be that way, not with Stiles. And Isaac's naked body wasn't something Stiles was prepared to be comfortable with. No matter how perfectly he fit into him, and no matter how golden, or sculpted, or powerful he was.

Arm outstretched, Isaac stuttered, "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," the word fell from his lips swiftly, genuinely having no idea how this happened and feeling regret and shame and his voice cracked and their hearts are beating too loudly and too fast and too erratically to find any solace there. "I don-"

"Right. One hand is totally and completely not enough to cover that up. Put some clothes on!" He stresses, and Isaac briefly looks down then back up, and his eyes painted a new flavor of misery in realizing his semi-hardness was plainly visible.

"I don't have any clothes with me..." He could just die. No more eye contact. He'd be kicked out naked in the streets. Stiles would never talk to him again, which normal people would probably be happy about, but he wasn't normal people. He screwed up. He wasn't sure if he were more happy or jealous that Stiles remained clothed in his pajamas. It meant they probably didn't have sex or anything, but it also meant he was the only one exposed and vulnerable. He was the only one wrong in this situation.

"What do you mean you have no clothes..." and as he looked around realizing Isaac's clothes were nowhere to be found, it clicked.

"It was you."

"It was me?"

"Oh ho ho it all makes sense now," Stiles said dramatically, turning around and raising his arms in frustrated relief, "The Husky. Of course it was you," he smiled and scoffed more to himself, and Isaac still isn't following, and he's still naked and hot and standing by his bed frame trying to look much smaller than he ever really deserves to be.

"Forget it. Just put on something, anything. Closet, " he points and Isaac darts inside, giving Stiles a pretty good view of his firm, round butt. He probably shouldn't have enjoyed that so much. "Underwear too! I want my pants and shirt back, but you can just. Burn the underwear when you're done..." he called loud enough for Isaac to hear, then felt silly because he would've heard even if he had whispered.

"Stiles," Isaac groaned after a while, distressed. He comes out of the closet scowling and uncomfortable. The white t-shirt he chose fit far too tightly, and didn't quite meet the pants, which, by the way, was probably the most depressing part of this whole ordeal. Those were his biggest pair, and he couldn't even get it zipped up all the way. He could swear his thighs were losing feeling, and he was pretty sure a draft was not supposed to be happening down there.

Stiles snorted, smiling wild and Isaac made a face.

"To be honest, it's a very good look on you," he said with a straight face. Served him right for the last three days. And the naked sleepover. Definitely the naked surprise sleepover which he himself wasn't naked for.

It didn't seem as though Isaac remembered anything from his time transformed as a wolf, not completely anyway. He was vaguely aware; he could remember things on an emotional level, and had random recollections of his feral senses. Nothing specific however, so Stiles sat him down, completely not naked (though Isaac wasn't hiding anything with that shirt on anyway), and retold him of their adventures.

He was not sorry at all. In fact, he found the whole thing fucking hilarious. Well haha, he's the one going home looking like an idiot. Despite how violating and utterly embarrassing the morning was, Isaac beaming with that rare wide smile of his, somehow, it felt like things would be alright. Even when the emptiness of his departure had long settled, that familiar warm happiness churned in his stomach. He smiled to himself, thumbs twiddling, alone on his bed. Thinking.

He didn't even notice the door opening until his father was already leaning against the frame with that stern look on his face.

"We need to talk."

And good feeling gone.


	8. Chapter 8

"We are not - not- ... totally not a thing."

"Yeah. Totally. Didn't even cross my mind," he said, hanging his head while picking at his fingers. Ankles crossed and feet dangling, he sat perched high amid shedding pine.

"Not even once," his voice low, deadpan among the gentle silence, Isaac smiled as he heard the subtle skip two branches below. How his body stilled in a moment's crisis as a million things whizzed simultaneously through his brain, Isaac became adept at noticing every iota. When excitement rattled through his empty cage, he made such an outrageous tempo, one Isaac could hardly keep up with. But when he was excited, nervous, eager yet cautious, ah there played a melody he could sing to. The slow rise, the subtle ambiance of his flowing blood stream with the beating of his heart syncopating. Shallow breaths and steady exhales, then - the smile. Loud and clear, sweet symphony, one which choked the abhorrent calamity Beacon Hills assaulted his ears every single day.

"The last thing I need is to fall in love with someone like you."

Isaac softly huffed.

His fingers twitched; he was hoping Isaac wouldn't take it how normal people should.

"So what's up with you anyway? The whole wolf thing? Not even Scott can do that...,"squinting with brows arched, Stiles turned to him, "Or Derek."

Sometimes Isaac would like to think he's normal, but apparently he's way past that by now. He's weird in all the wrong ways and not a lot of people have the patience to understand. Isaac himself managed to be a victim of his own surging tides long a go. Only the mysterious force pulling the ebb could stop this now, and Isaac had a feeling it was far too entertained.

Isaac didn't say anything, didn't even meet those almond quizzical eyes.

"Sometimes, you breathe with the passing of the wind. Does it calm you down?" Isaac asked and Stiles furrowed his brow, confused as to where he was coming from. Isaac locked eyes with him, earth and sky entangled.

"Sometimes everything becomes too loud. Too confusing. There's a whirlwind of things whipping around in here," he held his temples painfully, recounting those weak moments he seemed to have all to often, "and nothing to hold on to. I - I just.." Stiles could see the torment. He recognized it all too clearly. That which resided in the darkest pit of his essence, begging to claw its way out.

"You lose your mind."

Isaac nodded. Stiles didn't make a sound.

And there he goes again, losing focus. Suddenly everything became too eager, begging for attention. The shifting needles and leaves among the dirt, the brush of breeze against bark, the restless birds and the grazing deer, they began a maddening track he didn't want to listen to.

Timidly, Stiles climbed up, onto the sturdy branch, settling beside Isaac.

"I'm so bad at this werewolf thing."

"Well, you were better at it than when Scott first started. Besides the whole trying to eat my face thing back at the station," they shared solemn smiles in similar space. Turning, Stiles took in the sights of the forest from their vantage. He could across the ravine carved into the landscape, deep into it the little creek winding its way through, and far beyond. He's not exactly sure how this happened, or why. Isaac made no fuss, or even an effort to get him along. He just came without a second thought.

Isaac studied his features, his dark freckles covering his cheeks and the absolutely vacant expression Stiles wore, with his mouth agape. One of his many thinking faces. As much as Isaac was able to read Stiles, that brain of his was closed off to him ... for the most part.

He leaned closely in, his lips brushing tender-light against the shell of Stiles' ear and whispered, "Eat you... rip you apart... There's a lot I wanted to do to you that night."

Isaac smiled satisfied with the goosebumps he raised against his skin.

Stiles could get a little more comfortable occupying Isaac's space. Sharing warmth between earth and sky. Foolish and devious earth. Fleeting and capricious sky.

Suddenly, Stiles found himself cupping Isaac's cheek and really looking at him, through his eyes intently. Wheels turning behind cognition, Isaac braced himself - he knew these things could be unpredictable.

"Isaac you're eyes," he finally said, narrowing his own, "They're -"

"Blue? Stiles, we've been over this..." Isaac brushed his hand aside, disappointment turning his voice chafe. He didn't want to relive killing his own good-natured cousin. The kind that talked him through countless panic attacks and comforted him when he was cold and alone and afraid. He didn't want a perfect kissing opportunity to turn into a pity session. Moving forward was all that mattered. Delving on his past and weeping about it wasn't the way to do it.

"No, I mean! Isaac." Stiles yelped, losing his balance momentarily. In that instant, Isaac held him firmly, keeping Stiles on the branch. Stiles plowed through, unfazed by the near five story fall, "Look, there's a lot going on with you that I don't understand. Ignoring mountain ash barriers, taking enough wolfsbane to snuff one of you out for weeks?" Isaac stared intently at the young detective, features set while he held Stiles' spazzing body firm. "And this sensitivity to sound? Scott had trouble with it, but never so much that it literally drove him insane (and drove him to terrorize me all weekend with stupid wolf antics)."

Isaac's brow wrinkled, his face shadowed but the intense thought showed nonetheless. Both his cool hands cupped Isaac's warm cheeks, with little bits of debris from grasping the branch pricked him gently. Stiles rested his forehead against Isaac's and breathed.

"Do you feel alone?" he asks, tired eyes falling shut.

Stiles only heard Isaac's shaky breathing and the crinkle of countless grass blades ghosting against each other.

"Your eyes. They turn so cold. It's scary, y'know? Like steel." The way Stiles said it, almost a whimper. Needy. Isaac wasn't prepared, the tightening in his chest proof of it. He doesn't mean to be, so antisocial at times. He wasn't good at any of it. Werewolf. People? He just wasn't all that comfortable with it any of it yet, granted he had a bit more experience now. Certainly, he had a lot more to learn. He couldn't promise his reservations would completely vanish.

"I hear the slightest things. Not just your heart beat or your blood rushing through your veins. Your chest rising and falling as you breath. Your feet barely moving as they hang. How you curled your toes just now," Isaac chuckled. "It makes me insane, everything coming in all at once, but..." No, Isaac's reservations wouldn't all vanish at once. Excuse him for looking first before he jumped. Safer this way, descending carefully into this place uncharted.

"I'm finding a bigger anchor."

Stiles smiled to himself, feeling at ease.

"Flattering. But creepy," he said, scooting closer and leaning his head into Isaac's chest as Isaac rest against the trunk, "And I don't care how tough it gets, if I'm mastu - "

"I'm definitely listening in."


	9. Chapter 9

Grains of sun-bleached sand shift and spiral until the last joins the dune at the bottom. 

“Time!” They proclaim simultaneously, Isaac smashing the pencil against the paper, while Ms.McCall drops hers entirely with both hands raised. 

“Alright kiddo - whatchu got?” 

Isaac eyes her, very tempted to grumble, “You first,” but chokes it back knowing he wouldn’t win that fight. He lists off all twenty-three words he scanned off the Boggle tiles. He smirks and smugly announces ones he was proud of - assemble, treble - quirked brow daring her to do better. Once he rats off his list, he gestures, your move. 

Melissa looks genuinely impressed. “Okay,” she whispers as she began her own. Isaac feels a surge of confidence, sensing the defeat in her voice. They had played several games prior. He needed this win to tie up the score. But as she went, as more and more words crossed off his list, his confidence dwindles. His face scrunches up as he put a line of granite through assemble. Hers just lights up, a lion racing toward the kill. 

“And tin. Tally up,” Ms.McCall concludes, diving into her paper to rack up her score. 

Storm strained wind billows through their hair and Isaac becomes distracted by the serenity and warmth of the sound - a thousand times softer and more welcoming than tiny little blades of grass shimmering with the current. 

“No way.” 

“Ha! Mama McCall wins again!” she exclaims, thrusting her arms in the air in victory. Her fist clenched around the mechanical pencil sticks out to Isaac for no particular reason, and his eyes scale the length of her arm down to her face exuberant. He smiles a scowling smile, squinting against the storm brewn wind. 

"I swear, most of those aren't even words," but there was a point where he'd contest her entries with an old-fashioned dictionary. He learned fast that she played to win and wasting time on made up words wasn't the way to do it. "If it weren't about to rain something ungodly, and it wasn't nearing your bedtime, this wouldn't be over," he teases as he crumples his score sheet as he gets up. "You win this time."

"Damn right I do. Reigning Boggle queen right here," she teases right back, making a show of pointing both thumbs at herself as she heads inside. As she passes Isaac on the way however, she stretches up on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. 

"Nice try, champ. Loser cleans up." Ms.McCall speaks softly, enduringly as she pats his other cheek, disappearing inside. 

He hears the rain falling long before the first drop splashed against the roof. Something like a whispering, ghostly moan which put him more at ease, strangely. The bubbling happiness that settled in his stomach fizzles and pops as if synchronizing with the splatter against concrete and grass and window panes. Isaac would have been perfectly fine dozing off out there on porch, but he couldn't even the score with a ruined Boggle set. Among the laundry list of items on his to-do, that was... top five. 

Listening to the world around him with his newfound hearing became his favorite past time. His transformation into a werewolf introduced him to heightened senses beyond anything he would have ever dreamed. Smells became stronger aromas of their previous selves. Apples smelled sweeter. Trash smelled viler. Trees more woody and heady. He could almost taste the bitterness as Lydia sliced open a grapefruit during lunch. His hearing, though drastically better than when he was human, had never been so frightening. It scared him, at least it used to. He learned quickly, recognizing some of the horrifying sounds as utterly mundane and inconsequential. The rasp and tug of metal tumbles and locks sounded like a vast and whirring beast with razor appendages and a straining, crooked moan. Unlike his sense of smell, things sounded not only louder, but different. Isaac no longer had to concentrate to drown out the overwhelming sensory input, for the most part. He still loses it. Though the fight for control had been exponentially more painful than his initial turn, it had also been a quicker acclimation. 

Isaac has no idea why it’s happened to him, but he's glad for it. As far as he knows, this isn't normal. 

He flops onto his bed and waits. It's a Tuesday night, 9:37, so it confuses him. He waits all the same.

He nearly sleeps, waiting for familiar footsteps amid the tranquilizing downpour. Isaac jolts awake at the sudden knock, disoriented in the haze of fleeting nightmares, but quickly regains his bearings. The door - not the window - and the rain had come down in earnest, nevermind the running shower squealing several doors down. 

Isaac winces and heads downstairs. 

"Hi." 

Stiles is drenched from head to toe and embracing himself, as if desperately attempting to hide away his heat from the thieving cold. He waves, and a little - too much for Isaac's liking - leaks out and washes away with the torrent. 

"What are you doing here, Stiles," Isaac asks curtly, arms folded as he leans against the door frame. 

"Hanging out. You and me. Y'know, doing buddy buddy stuff. Together. Me and you. Typical, normal, friend stuff," he shrugs. Says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, as if trekking through the crack of thunder and misting rain for video games and pizza were the most normal thing in the world. 

"It's nearly eleven. On a school night." 

"Sleepover?" 

It might have passed Stiles' thought, once or twice, that maybe Isaac would turn him away. The prospects seemed immensely greater the longer their conversation dragged on. Panic and fear crept in steadily with the chill biting his bones.

Isaac sighs.

"You're gonna look silly wearing my clothes." 

Stiles' ears shift with a loopy grin as Isaac guides him indoors. 

When Stiles is dried off and draped in one of Isaac's much-too-big sweaters, the question comes again. This time in pointed looks and rolled eyes. His scowl lingers prominent, but Stiles isn't remiss of the inward smile when Stiles covers his mouth absently with the sleeves of his sweater. He stifles a yawn and regrets it - it shows just how worn he is when the notion fails, and it ruins the feigned ignorance to Isaac's silent inquiry. 

"Stiles..."

But he interrupts, knowing where that sympathetic look and morose tone was heading. He didn't need to be reminded just how easily his emotions could be read, what with his betraying body. Stiles thought he had it down pat, the ability to pose honesty but lie underneath. 

"I was looking for information, okay?" he stresses, tensing his supinated hands. The bite to his demeanor is diminished with how silly he looks. He calms, pushing the sleeves past his elbows. "You know, it sucks feeling powerless to help the ones closest to you. I've been out all night looking for him and you know what I find? Nothing. And my best friends risk their lives on nights I'm not even part of. And you know what? That sucks too! " 

By the end of it, Stiles had pushed off the corner of the bed and started pacing frantically as his anxiety built up. The waistband of the Woody Woodpecker pajama pants Isaac would never get back sunk below his hips, and Isaac respectfully ignored the accidental show of skin. Isaac stood, arms folded, and watched worriedly as Stiles broke down, voice defiantly unquivering. 

His heart wasn't so bold. 

"I broke into the old library on the other side of town," Stiles confesses, the sudden sombre turn of his tone alarms Isaac, "Deaton wasn't at the vet's, which is weird 'cause he's there all the time like doesn't he live there?" At Isaac's patient glare, Stiles desists with the rambling, "I was walking home, alone," and suddenly his voice isn't so bold anymore, "and of all the things to let get to me after everything I've been through. It's so stupid." 

Isaac offers a tense, thought ridden embrace. Stiles wastes no time melting into his broad chest and Isaac wraps his arms safely around him, one securely around the small of Stiles' back, the other across his shoulders. 

"I'm afraid. Didn't want to be home alone." 

Tears well up and Isaac hears the hitch as they spill and stain his shirt. 

Isaac squeezes tighter. 

He doesn't give any trite excuses. No I didn't want to get you hurt, or I didn't bring you along for your safety. They both knew it would be a silly and stupid lie. Isaac wasn't even sure if he liked Stiles, or he him. No, Stiles was barely on his radar. Scott was all that mattered. 

He does nothing else - just stands there with Stiles, breathing. There’s an overwhelming urge to spill a pantheon of unforged promises, the desire to clad Stiles in impregnable safety. But they’ve seen too much to gamble on such hope. A little bit of his time and attention, and a sturdy hug is all he can honestly offer. He hopes it’s enough. 

Stiles shifts, places his palms against Isaac's chest and pushes - just enough so there's space enough between them for Stiles to step back and peer at him. Isaac stares back. 

"Now that we’ve established how pathetic I am, I think it’s probably time for me to go.” He sucks in an uneven breath and glances behind himself, as if suddenly all this were a mistake and the door offered the only escape. He sniffs, wiping his haggard eyes with the sleeve. 

As used to the shining glare Stiles had become, the idle, haughty beauty leering through lidded eyes paralyzes him. But then Isaac smiles warmly, and the phantom disperses. 

“Can’t very well let one tiny little breakdown get in the way of ruining Wednesday morning with whatever the hell you want to do all night. Buddy.” 

Isaac really does have a shining smile. 

Stiles notices he’s gaping and shuts his mouth with a jolt, “Right, yeah. Okay. Let’s do that.” His surprise at himself and how things turned out had muted his elation. But their unbidden happenstance, the realization of it, hits and he smiles too. 

Though both would be perfectly fine falling into a routine of intimacy, neither presumed the other would. Instead, they kept it casual and friendly - as far as overly snide and sarcastic teenagers could. 

"Popcorn me," Stiles demands, leaning his head back against the bed. Isaac grabs a handful from the steaming bag, crisp and buttery.

"Cute, what you did right there. Totally saw that one coming," he sputters, shaking off bits from his hair and chewing what few actually landed in his mouth. 

"Shh. Hogarth is just about to meet the giant." 

Stiles grunts from his spot between Isaac's legs, popping a piece that landed on Isaac's pajama pants into his mouth, crunching. 

"So... Are we ever gonna talk about your wolf-scapades, or are we filing that under unsolved mysteries forever?" 

Isaac's gaze remains glued to the screen.

"Are... you going to talk through the whole movie?" Though he actually wouldn't mind if he did. He's seen Iron Giant more times than Isaac is willing to admit, and as much as he loves the movie, and as much as he wanted to experience the film together, he didn't want Stiles to feel ignored when he had only moments ago sought Isaac's company.

Isaac taps his shoulder and holds a popped kernel above Stiles' gaping mouth. 

"I might." 

Surprisingly, Stiles says nothing until after the movie finishes. Personally, he had more fun sneaking upward glances, relishing the childish grin plastered to Isaac's face. 

But soon as the DVD slid out of the Xbox, he geared up ready to fire his questions. 

”I’ve talked to everyone I could think of. I’ve talked to Deaton. I’ve talked to Derek. Hell I’ve even asked Ethan if he knew anything about what’s going on with me! I don’t know Stiles.” 

“What about the Bestiary? Was there anything remotely close to your situation in there?” Stiles offers, clearly miffed about being read so abruptly. 

“I can’t read Latin. Deaton probably knows everything in that dusty old book anyway.”  
Stiles vibrates at the prospects of teaching him, but contains that ephemeral fantasy and pockets it for later. 

“If this is entirely new - or something that only happens once in a millennia - we should probably be documenting it. Test your limitations or something." 

"Oh?" Isaac raises slim arches and leans back as he languidly chews on a popcorn seed, "So you want me to jump some hoops, blow some horns," he shrugs with his mouth and with his shoulders, "bark while I'm at it?" 

Stiles points to Isaac, "You said it," then to himself, "not me."

He flutters, running his fingers through the length of his soft brown hair.

"Wouldn't mind watching you do things either, quite honestly."

Isaac smiles brightly at that and saunters up behind him, wrapping his arms around Stiles' chest, hooked under his armpits. 

"Oh yeah? And when should I start doing such things?" Isaac whispers against the panes of Stiles' exposed neck. 

"Tonight?" Stiles answers breathlessly. 

 

That night ended with Ms. McCall yelling for them to turn the music down, go to bed, and Stiles to go home. They got a little carried away testing his hearing, and blasted Zedd so loud the whole neighborhood could hear. Stiles didn't go home. Isaac wouldn't let him. Instead, they dropped the testing for the night and played a Halo campaign the until morning broke. 

It went unsaid, but they both knew perfectly well for what they continued their nightly experiments. Besides sating Stiles' curiosity, there lied some key, some secret weapon they could use to not only find Scott, but defend themselves against he who calls himself the Demon Wolf. 

Isaac sometimes wonders what happens after they find him. Aiden too. What becomes of them? Maybe Stiles won't be so lonely. Maybe Stiles forgets about him. 

He still wants to find Scott.

"Extraordinary. But not by werewolf standards. Alphas can hide their scent, so we probably can't rely on your sense of smell." Stiles says, jotting down his findings up the underside of his forearm with a green sharpie, the scent of it making Isaac a little light-headed. 

"So far everything seems normal," he thinks about it for a half second then adds, " as far as prowling creatures of the night go anyway. "

They had tested his strength last night, getting him to do reps with cars of varying sizes. When Stiles asked him to curl an eighteen wheeler, Isaac barked a courteous fuck you between grit teeth and muscles straining to the point of ripping. So that hadn't worked out. It was better than the smell test, oh by a long shot. Stiles, Isaac knew but hadn't quite comprehended until then, is completely and totally evil. Through cycling between throwing up in the toilet and the sink, and a burning nose, they did manage to find out that even though Isaac could smell different types of wolfsbane just as effectively as normal, he just wasn’t as affected. 

Isaac dry heaves the last bit of contents into Stiles’ sink. 

“Okay, there’s one last thing,” he says, capping the sharpie with a rubbery snap. Isaac glances at him wearily, wipes his mouth with the last bit of tissue paper. 

“Alright,” pushing off the open toilet cover, Isaac straightens himself up and runs a tired hand through blonde curls, “what’s next?”

Stiles suppresses a grin and shakes his head, “Don’t worry, we’re done for now,” then his expression turns serious as he folds his arms. “But I have to tell you something because I don’t think you’ve noticed yet, and I think it might be pretty important.”  
Isaac quirks an eyebrow and rests his elbows on the sink, curious. 

“Your eyes glow silver when you wolf out. It’s been happening for awhile now - steady mysterious blue and then,” Stiles makes a quick flashing gesture with his hands, “spark of silver. Now they’re just silver.” 

Isaac tries to process the information. which is news to him by the way. He searches Stiles’ face, dark lashes, the curve of his eyebrows and the constellation of freckles adorning his flushed cheeks. Unwavering. Even before Stiles jerks his head toward the mirror, Isaac is already staring himself down. He looks as tired as he feels, but not quite as shitty. Through knit brows, Isaac leans forward, as if he might miss it. 

And there they are, shining. Brightly. 

Stiles settles beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and leans into his space. Mercurial orbs meet amber. Isaac hears the stutter, though Stiles’ face doesn’t show it. Slow and blinking, chewing his cheek as Stiles gathers his thoughts. 

“They’re beautiful. They almost remind me of -”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. Oh gosh I finally got it out. I'm so happy I found a good rhythm to writing again. Also cliffhanger I guess. Only because I needed to layout and make clear some key elements for the next chapter which hopefully wont take half a year to do =_=
> 
> I've taken into consideration the choppy scene shifts in earlier chapters and I plan on going through and putting some indicators where need be. For now though lots of league of legends for me. 
> 
> Also, I realize that I need to go in and put italics in certain places because Ao3 tends to poof them from existence. And italics are pretty important how I write some of their dialogue and narration.


	10. Chapter 10

Isaac had an expression like he's trying to pry open every secret that had ever burrowed into Stiles' head. Stiles gawked, surprised, but a smirk nudged the curves of his gaping mouth.

"So all we have to do is teach you the voice trick," he said gleefully, slapping the taller teen on the shoulder, "then we can get this baby started."

"Yeah," he rolled his eyes and sighed, looking toward Ethan's location. "This'll go just peachy."

That night Stiles insists on everyone coming over just to hang. Leave all the drama at the doorstep, supernatural or otherwise. Allison and Lydia needed no convincing, besides. It's nice to catch up with their wayward friend as of late. Danny, ever suspicious of Stiles and his conniving, underhanded motives, was highly reluctant to come, but Ethan convinced him eventually. Who, of course, may or may not have been blackmailed himself.

As horrible as he should feel about the assumption, Stiles knew Isaac would be there despite his reservation.

It makes him proud, honestly.

Besides Danny, everyone assumes this impromptu get-together is a trust building exercise for the distrusting duo. They know Stiles. He isn't fooling anybody. But for the most part, with Stiles' incredible hosting and take-out ordering skills, they manage genuine amicable company.

Eventually, Stiles finds himself atop his roof, hand under head and a beer in the other, staring at the moon's pale cascade. He breathes deep in the smoke coughed up from their once neglected grill. The ladies seem enthralled with the couple's company. His dad, the Sheriff, might not be so chummy if he found out Stiles threw a party - with alcohol he might add - without his consent. Or at all.

Well. He was the only one drinking, so this might blow over more gently than he initially thinks.

He wonders if his dad is disappointed in him. He probably won't be giving his father any grandchildren. At least not the old-fashioned way. Sheriff seemed alright with him being with a guy, even joked that he was right; Stiles wasn't gay. More along the lines of head over heels for the crazy sarcastic types. But if he caught them in bed together again especially with no protection...

Stiles can't help but feel disgusting. He took a life and couldn't even make up for it.

Stiles ignores Isaac clambering up to the roof and takes a swig of piss incarnate. He could care a little less that he was here, that is until he snatches the bottle from Stiles' limp fingers and eyes the line of liquid.

Stiles almost hates that one raised brow demanding explanation as much as he hates his father's set and unmoving features.

Stiles attempts to yank to bottle back, but Isaac easily keeps it from him.

Frustrated, he quips, "I'm not drunk!" Isaac lets him retrieve his drink, but still holds his gaze.

"Ass."

He takes another gulp. Lays back down.

"I should be the one drunk," Isaac says stretching out beside him.

"Too bad," giggling, Stiles sloshes the nearly empty glass. The gentle gurgling of the liquid sends pleasant chills darting down Isaac's shoulder.

"You left me to fend for myself down there. You're horrible."

"Yet you can defend yourself against the likes of me?" Stiles mocks, smiles quickly, then notices Isaac's unsmiling face and apologizes. "Sorry."

"So what? You get tired of your own parties now?" Stiles doesn't look at him. He feels his breath quiver in the cold and Isaac imaginfingertipshieves again. They're dancing somewhere, between the glow of the stars or on the other side of the waning moon.

"Must've realized the company I was keeping."

The one who stole his best friend. The one who rejected him at every turn. The other one who stole his best friend. And Danny.

Silence blankets the two beneath an eternal, yet ephemeral mobile.

"So my eyes really look like that?" Isaac questions, nodding needlessly at the moon.

It made sense, Deaton's explanation of werewolves' eye color, how each was reminiscent of the moon. The blood moon crimson, harvest moon gold, and the rare blue moon azure. Werewolves drew their power from the moon. It made perfect sense that their eyes would reflect that. Stiles figured that out, but the significance of it all was left for Dr. Deaton to reveal.

Something about the moon goddess Luna or Hecate and something about a banquet celebrating the harvest. The elder being bestowed the mark of leadership and first meat. Something about the Scorned. A murder. Crippling guilt. And the moon goddess's favor for the outcast.

Aptly named, he's a Silver wolf. A true omega, apparently. He supposes it's better than some awkward offhanded greek letter.

The only thing Isaac is absolutely certain of is the guy in the fable was too loyal. Too eager to please. Too quick to concede. Much like himself.

"Am I supposed to pray to some big space rock now?" Isaac asked baffled.

"I don't know," Deaton responded, signaling the end of story time, "I've never met her."

Stiles answers quickly and the sudden slur surprises him, "Nope."

Isaac looks at him, but he's ignoring him again, eyes locked on the stars.

"They're more blue than any blonde kid's deserve to be. They're liquidy and shimmery, like those pools of fresh water lakes you see on hipster Tumblr blogs," the shift of Stiles' head turning to face him draws Isaac's attention.

"That's how beautiful your eyes look. Not cold and lonely like the stupid moon."

That sets Isaac's heart aflight, and he takes comfort knowing Stiles is right there with him, uncertain and awkward and reckless. He hears Dearly Beloved playing twice simultaneously, and they're a little unsynchronised. But he likes that. He reach out, touches Stiles cheek. The grizzle of his sprouting beard rustles under Isaac's fingertips, and he thinks it more calming that the spread of wind through grass or hair as he strokes the freckled panes with the pad of his thumb.

Stiles nudges into his touch, edges nearer into his space.

"You're so drunk, Stiles." Isaac chuckles.

At that, he rolls over onto his back, lets the beer clink against the asphalt roof and sighs, "Ass."

Isaac still visits his old home sometimes. It hasn't been sold yet even though it's a beautiful house just on the right side of the neighborhood. Not to mention its price dropped three times since its vacancy. He visits less so now, steals away fewer of his memories; he doesn't need them as much as he used to.

With fire and hammer, he's forging new ones.

There's a moment, as Isaac pulls his shirt over his head, where he wonders if Stiles knows that he watches him from across the locker room. He isn't surreptitious about it all, even stares in his general direction when the metal cages obscure his view. He's slender yet sturdy, and patches of hair accentuates the muscles in his chest and forearms and legs and leaves a trail down where only his imagination is allowed. Stiles jokes about being one-forty, skinny, and defenseless, but Isaac thinks he'd be a reckonable force with a little confidence and maybe some martial training. The charade must go on however, Stiles bumbling on the lacrosse field and scrambling for purchase. Isaac figures he must have adopted the propensity for withstanding an ass beating from Scott, restraining from unleashing his full potential. Sometime later, after lacrosse practice and after their makeshift pack meeting, Isaac would rile him up. Get him angry, hate him even, maybe for a little while. Just prove to Stiles that he's more than just a whipping boy.

"Now please try not to kill each other while I'm gone," Stiles stresses, completely serious, glancing between Ethan and Isaac after briefing them on what they should be doing.

"You're leaving?" Ethan pleads, and Isaac is surprised the words didn't fall from his own mouth.

"Yes. I have to meet up with Lydia and Allison at Allison's place. The brains of this operation?" Stiles gestures exasperatedly, like he has no time to explain the simple and the obvious.

"Be good little," and at Ethan's death stare, he backpedals, "muscle men, and play nice." And as he walks backwards, he adds pointing toward Ethan, "My promise to shove that stick up your ass still stands. Always."

Isaac can't stop smirking as Ethan watches Stiles saunter off to change. He shrugs when Ethan looks to him for sympathy.

Surprise still overtakes him when he thinks of how Deaton travelled all the way to Sicily just to confirm with absolute certainty that his suspicions were correct. Isaac's mind wanders. The doctor must have a reserve of resources to go and return in such short time.

Isaac knows what a shiny pokemon must feel like. He isn't enthused by the attention.

"So basically I just chase you around while you figure out how to throw your voice?"

"Pretty sure Stiles' instructions were more detailed than that?"

"Tell me you could keep up with that."

Isaac smiles real wide and begins jogging backward, "Way better than you can keep up with me." He flashes his eye just to show off, and the familiar surge of supernatural energy surges through him.

Isaac bolts. Ethan follows on his heels.

As a packless wolf, he can never be as strong or durable as a proper beta, much less an alpha. But he was given tools most other omegas go their entire lonely lives without experiencing. Just like the Scorned who heard the truth, Isaac hears it all. Sound beckons to him like a lighthouse overlooking the sea. His body responds to the lovely waves, immersing himself in safety. Likewise, his own voice held influence, could protect him from danger.

If done right, he could never be tracked by sound. He could flee from his pursuers, never to be caught. Running at the speed of sound.

As proud as he is at outrunning Ethan, the whole ordeal made him feel silly. Howling like some poor unfortunate soul. Where only recently, Ethan and Aiden had captured and pinned him faster than he could think, he left Ethan winded and panting through puffed cheeks.

"Holy shit man."

Yeah, ultimately it was still a failure. But at least he got to put off most of his homework.

"Where're you going?" Ethan asks breathlessly, clearly resenting the prospects of moving.

"Allison's. If you must know." With hands on hips, Isaac lolls his head in the other wolf's direction. His poise exudes impatience.

"You're just gonna walk there? I could give you a ride."

Isaac has no vehicle, so he's not sure how else Ethan thought he was going to get home. He refrains from saying that aloud because as much as Isaac doesn't want to like the guy, he is making an effort. Declining would be rude.

"You want me to ride a motorcycle with you?" Isaac squints with the evening sun suddenly in his eyes.

"I think I'd rather walk."

At the very least, Ethan's bike ran smoother than Scott's. Seriously, why pretend a dirt bike was meant for the road?

Allison let Ethan in her house, which surprised Isaac, certainly, but then he remembers Ethan has a stake to claim in all this too.

"Hey guys. How'd it go with the..." Allison sees the answer obvious on their exhausted faces as their lifted into the Argent's den.

"None of his howls even came close to the one he did that night."

Isaac leans on the elevator railing and waits until the journey ends.

Books, random stacks of paper askew, and three laptops lay strewn about a large, dark wood table. Pens and a random assortment of bright highlighters have rolled into odd places. Some rest forgotten on the floor.

"Well did you che - "

"Yes," Lydia drones, bored.

"What about Dicker - "

"Yes," she stresses, sensing the onslaught of questions, "Wherever you're thinking, yes to that too. These are public schools Stiles, they're not going to dole out information about their students."

"What's the point of them being public then?" He grumbles, settling back into scanning a loose piece of paper. Lydia idly turns a page.

"It was just Isaac and Ethan," Allison informs the as she strides over and sets her belongings among the mess.

"Isaac? Why are - " Stiles begins, looking over his shoulder, but Isaac is already looking over the other, eyes grazing the scrawl of notes riddling the paper.

"Your handwriting is shit. What does that say?"

"Ho-ly fuck," Stiles jerks, startled, but recovers realizing there's no real danger. Which is an odd thought to have given three of the four other people in the room could easily assassinate him in his sleep, and the fourth would probably hire them to do it.

"Do I need to put a bell on you? Jesus." He hears Ethan snicker, but rolls his eyes and begins deciphering his chicken scratch for Isaac's understanding.

He doesn't catch Allison and Ethan's exchange of words, doesn't see the cheeky grin splayed across their faces, but Isaac does. The urge to inch away is strong, but Isaac resists.

"We think they're somewhere in Orange or Los Angeles. The packs there are lead by the sort of Alphas Deucalion would be interested in assimilating."

"Problem is, we can't find any proof that Aiden or Scott or enrolled in any schools there, or anywhere else," Allison adds.

"That's not surprising. Ethan and Aiden only attended Beacon Hills High to get to Scott," Lydia supplies, hinting at an earlier debate.

"She's right, we were truant most of our lives and that didn't change when Deucalion picked us up.

"So...what about those Alphas? What sort of whistle do they have that the 'demon wolf' would want them?" Isaac asks, pointing to a particularly underlined and bolded patch of granite he still couldn't quite make out.

"One can steal memories with just a skin deep cut, and the other can give pain she's absorbed. Apparently."

Neither sounded pleasant. Neither sounded like anything Deucalion should have his hands on.

Finding Scott is one thing, though Orange or Los Angeles seemed to be their best shot, but freeing him from that tyrannical bond would be completely different. Isaac knows, without an ounce of uncertainty, that if Deucalion gave the word, Scott would kill them. Not every Alpha shackles their betas so tightly. Not every Alpha has the power to. With Scott, Isaac did it himself, pushing himself, wanting desperately to be part of something. Tied the noose tight around his own neck and gave Scott the leash. He never abused that power, which Isaac is glad for.

But Isaac knows if Scott commanded it, he'd forfeit his own life to him without a fight.

Which makes him think. Is he really even an Omega? Are Omegas that helpless that any Alpha can toss them around? Ethan's story comes to mind and he winces.

An Omega. A packless animal. Not a beta without purpose. An Omega.

Suddenly Isaac knows. The voice trick isn't a magical sonic wave. It's a reminder of choice. But in order for it to work, Isaac must make his own decision first.

Before night settled and starts obfuscate behind inky clouds, they head home with the decision to check Orange first, the Los Angeles, and possibly neighboring counties. They trekked the naked streets, Stiles at the wheel with Isaac slumped in the passenger seat.

"No stop keep it here!"

"I am not listening to bloody Boom Clap again," they bicker as Isaac clicks over to the other saved stations as Stiles button mashes the 6 button.

"I'm the driver. This is my car - which I just got out the shop from when you wrecked it by the way! We're listening to Boom Clap!" Stiles isn't paying attention to the road, rather staring Isaac down as he tries to shoo Isaac's long fingers away from the radio.

"All About That Bass!" and just like that, the vote was unanimous. Isaac would probably fear for his life, with the way Stiles is recklessly swerving to the rhythm and gyrating about, but he's too busy dancing himself. Shamelessly.

Stiles giggles, "You're the only lame ass who can get away with doing the orange guy's dance and not look completely ridiculous.

"If that's what you're into then go 'head and move along,"

They fight over what to listen to the whole way, but they end up dancing and almost dying the whole way too.

If Stiles thought he could get clunk out soon as he hit the bed, he was wrong. Isaac forced him up, to help him finish that math homework he never got around to doing. Junk food piled around the their workspace while the television flickered brightly, silently. Despite only getting halfway through, Stiles distracts with casual, menial conversation.

"How else do you think he got the job? They took one look at that performance and snagged him up," Stiles throws his head back and pops a cheesy dorito into his mouth. "Yoink. Didn't care if he could act," he shrugs, "just hoped they could sell the pilot based on that face alone."

"Getting cast on Glee probably helped," Isaac replies, attempting to focus on working out the rest of that problem and on whatever Stiles decided to bring up.

"But that can't be a coincidence! He sings Run Away With Me, and then gets to play THE Flash? No way. That had to be planned."

"But he's plays a good Flash."

"He does play a good Flash."

Stiles glances at his work, then at the images played out on the screen.

"You switched a negative."

Stiles turns back to Isaac.

Isaac kisses him. Slow and wading, but he wants Stiles to feel it, exactly what he thinks of their relationship. He isn't great with I love you's and he's not one hundred percent sure his affection takes a recognizable form. But here it is. Plain and clear.

Stiles doesn't pull away.

Stiles' eyes are closed.

Isaac ejoys the way Stiles' heartbeat sounds like his own. Not frantic, but excited yet calm simultaneously.

The kiss is slow, but it's also quick. They return to their conversation, as if everything were natural.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, thanks for reading and providing some AMAZING feedback and commentary. I do enjoy the comments and feel free to provide criticisms. 
> 
> Also~
> 
> I WILL eventually format the earlier chapters so they are easier to read. Eventually.


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